


A Million Things I Haven't Done

by TulliusTrash (libroslunae)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Ham is covering the election for Henry on assignment, Angst, Anxiety, Artist Laurens, But here it is, College AU, Columbia College, Depression, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Gay, Gen, Hamliza, Hamliza was a previous thing, Henry Laurens is running for president, John pretends Henry isn't his father so he can escape the Conservatives TM, M/M, Marine Biology, Multi, Newspaper AU, Other, Pain, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Presidential Election, Slow Burn, Suffering, Waffles, abc news, against George King, and Washington is the Democratic nominee, but lots of fun, cursing, hamilton will eventually become a campaign manager?? i think, journalist Hamilton, leave me alone I know there are a million college aus, lots of gay, nobody is straight, sin - Freeform, smart ass fuckers, so I didn't tag it in relationships, this one's mine ok, what a disaster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-07-25 21:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7548538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libroslunae/pseuds/TulliusTrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander Hamilton, ambitious Columbia student, lands a job at The Stance, a political magazine run by television personality Philip Schuyler. His very first task: cover the Republican side of the presidential election, a close combat battle between the incumbent President George King III and conservative South Carolina senator Henry Laurens. His job not only jump starts his career, but also jump starts his social life. He meets the "hamilsquad," and the world will never be the same.<br/>Possible title change in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In New York...

**Author's Note:**

> be gentle with me

     When Alex came to the United States from his little island in the Caribbean, devastated in persona and reeling from disaster after disaster, he’d expected to go to college. He knew it was his only shot at getting a job, making a life for himself in this new place, this better place. He knew it was h is only shot to do something he was passionate about and make a difference in the world. He was not throwing away that shot. But what he had  _ never _ expected was the ambitious double major combination of political science and journalism to land him a job in the most prestigious newspaper, The Stance, in upper Manhattan.

     The paper was run by Philip Schuyler - yes, the  _ same _ Philip Schuyler from The Schuyler Hour on ABC News. When he’d reached out to Alex personally, he’d nearly had a heart attack. Schuyler cited Alex’s good grades and promising journalistic ability as reason to adopt him as a writer for The Stance, explaining that he was part of a national program called the Revolution Initiative, which promised it would aid the most able collegiate scholars in their transfer to the working world. The aim, said the initiative’s website, was to create a better future for the country by enabling the brightest of its up-and-comers early on.

     When he first showed up in the Schuyler Building, he had no professional clothing. He wore a wrinkled button up shirt, jeans, and sneakers. But Schuyler, an intimidating man with salt and pepper hair, Peter Capaldi eyebrows, and a real knack for making one feel small, only shook his hand and welcomed him on board, claiming that his work spoke for itself. 

     “Your opinion is clear. That is enough. That is why I chose you over your peer, I’m sure you’ve heard of him, Mr. Aaron Burr. That is why I am certain you belong here.”

     He’d gifted Alex a thousand dollar deposit into his bank account to buy himself professional clothes and any school-related materials that were necessary. “If you need more money, do not hesitate to come see me, but your first paycheck will be coming in a week’s time nonetheless. It is imperative to the Revolutionary Initiative that you keep your grades up and continue proving your scholarly ability through your employment here. The laptop is yours, for school and company activities. Welcome on board, Mr. Hamilton. I will see you next Monday.”

     For once in his life, Alex found himself speechless. 

     The next Monday, he had the privilege of meeting the Schuyler sisters, who went to his college and were famous around campus for their hard work and kind hearts (and also their rich father, but few mentioned it). 

     Angelica, witty and sharp, stunningly beautiful, was a senior; Margaret, who preferred to be called Peggy, soft yet vibrant, a freshman; and Eliza, sophomore like Alex, trusting and kind and warm. They were all adopted, and they were all brilliant. 

     Eliza slipped Alex her number at the end of the day. “Maybe a coffee sometime?” she’d whispered as she walked past. Alex felt his heart flutter as he smiled up at her. He was hardly the professional he claimed to be in this place, though. He doubted that Eliza would find his regular self attractive, his swearing and humor and love for cartoons. He was only nineteen, after all. His mind was older, but his attitude wasn’t.

     Alex hid his smile when Mr. Schuyler glanced at him, eyes narrowed but still friendly in his odd way. In person, he was just like his television personality.

     “Hamilton? A word.”

     “Sir?”

     He stared after his blue clad daughter. “Your first assignment. I’m not starting you easy, and I apologize for that. But I think you will be a good fit. You are aware of the race for President, of course, now still in the primary stages. At the moment, General George Washington seems to have secured the Democratic nomination, but Mr. President King and Senator Henry Laurens are in an ever-shifting contest for the Republican nomination. I’d like to test your bravery and perseverance with a long assignment that openly contradicts your preferences and point of view; you will need to judge fairly as a journalist in the political field for your entire career. Now is a good time to start. For that reason, I am assigning you to report on a contestant for the Republican nomination, the one and only South Carolinian. Henry Laurens.”

     Alex was disappointed - he was, in his own words, a  _ huge-ass liberal _ \- but nodded as he put his laptop in his messenger bag. 

     “Laurens will be in New York City next week. Prepare yourself.”

     Alex, noting that it was dark outside at this point, decided to do some research on his least favorite presidential candidate at his favorite cafe, Federalist Soup, a funky little spot that mixed hipster and hip-hop. He’d get a coffee or seven and catch up on what he’d missed by forcefully ignoring the conservative candidate over the past few weeks, and try not to puke too hard.

    The barista, a classmate by the name of Maria Reynolds, who had a tattoo of a rose behind her ear and clearly belonged at a Sephora store fixing the snobby looks on the faces of Columbia kids instead of serving them coffee, offered him a warm smile as he entered. “Alex. You normally aren’t in here this late, what’s up?”

    Alex felt his professional visage melt off in the presence of his friend. “Hey Ria. Can I get a quadshot?”

    She raised her perfect left eyebrow, embroidered with her newest piercing. “Quadshot kinda night?”

     He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, you’ll feel me in a second: get this. Schuyler gave me my first assignment.  _ Henry Laurens.” _

     “What a dick, am I right?” called a voice from the back corner of the cafe.  “Not Schuyler. Laurens. Sorry, I wasn’t eavesdropping, I just happened to overhear. It’s a quiet night.”

     He looked back at the origin of the Voice. Someone was sitting in his table, the one he sat in every day in the afternoon as he did homework. Someone with  _ possibly _ similar political opinions and, from what he could see in the dim lighting, a  _ large _ cup of Federalist drink. “I can raise a glass to  _ that _ .”

     Maria nodded back there, whispering, “Go talk to him. He’s been in here for way too long and I’m starting to worry. I’ll bring your Cardiac Distress back to ya when it’s done.”

     “Thanks, Ria.”

     “Hey,” said the Voice when he approached closer. Its source was a guy, appearing to be about Alex’s age, with a curly ponytail and golden brown eyes and a splatter of freckles across his face and neck. He was drawing something, it looked to be a turtle with a disproportionately large neck, on a sketch pad the size of Alex’s torso. “I’m John. John Laurens. I happen to share a name with Senator BadPerson.”

     “Dude,” Alex said, swinging the bag from his shoulder into his hands, “I am  _ so  _ sorry. You must get tons of questions now that he’s running for president. Can I sit here? You seem cool, and this is my regular spot.”

     “Sure. Don’t throw away your spot. I’m lonely anyway,” John replied with a shrug, pencil poised just above the turtle eye. “I’m an art major. You can imagine how that leads to loneliness. I’m minoring  in marine biology, though, just in case.”

     Alex laughed. “My name is Alexander Hamilton. You can call me Alex if you want, most people do. I’m double major polisci and journalism, which is why I’m with Schuyler.”

     John smiled into his sketch. Alex noted that he had dimples. “Ambitious, much?”

     “That’s our Alex,” Maria jumped in, placing his drink on the table with a swoosh of her apron. “If you tip me pretty, it’s on the house.”

     “Ria.” Alex rolled his eyes. She was already on the way to the counter again, but turned around and walked backwards to give him finger guns and a wink.

     “So you know Schuyler, but have you met -” he whispered this last part, as if there was someone else in the cafe who might hear “- his daughters?”

     He smiled at the thought of Eliza. “Yeah. They’re something else.”

     “I’ve known them since freshman year. The Schuyler sisters work hard, and they’re ten times more chill than you would think from their professional demeanor. Once you get to know them, anyway. You should come hang out with us some time.”

     Alex raised an eyebrow. John knew the Schuylers personally? It seemed that there was a whole side of Columbia that he didn’t know.

     “I kind of consider myself a Henry Laurens expert, you know, out of necessity. So if you need anything, let me know,” John commented.

     “Racism in modern America.”

     The other boy looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows. “What?”

     Alex sipped his coffee as he flipped his laptop open. “Laurens’ stance on racism in modern America. I know he was talking about something crazy, but I’ve kinda been ignoring him.”

     “Oh. Well, my - my research shows that he’s an ardent white supremacist.”

     “Even though he married an African American lady?”

     John’s eyes were angry with his next words, bitter and sad. “It’s subtle.”

     Alex typed that into his notes. “LGBTQ matters?”

     “Conversion therapy.” There was something pitiful about the way he said it, but Alex decided not to pry. It took him a half second to jot down the note.

     “Immigration?” 

     And they went on like this until Maria shouted at them from behind the counter. “I’d like to close up tonight, y’all.”

     “Get your crusty southern ass back into Georgia, Ria Reynolds,” called John. They packed up laughing. John Laurens was gorgeous, Alex couldn’t avoid it. He couldn’t help but feel lucky to meet two incredibly stunning people in the same day.

     “Hey, where can I get in touch with you? I might need some more information later on. Is that alright?” It was well disguised, but it  _ was _ a “hey, what’s your number” move.

     “If you show up around here more often at this time, I’ll be here. But anyway, put your number in my phone. I’ll text you.”

     “You hear me? Move it, boys.”

     Alex put his number in and grabbed his coffee. He’d barely had any of it - he was too wrapped up in talking to John. That said something.

     It turned out that their dorms were in the same building. Alex asked why he’d never seen John around.

     He shrugged. “It’s probably because you weren’t looking,” he said as they split. Alex was down the stairs, John was up. “I’ve got one of those faces. See you around, Alex.”

     “See you.”

     Alex the student was up doing essays about Thoreau’s poetry versus his prose. Alex the professional was up doing research about the platform of Henry Laurens. The coffee got finished, and every time he thought of either John or one of the Schuyler sisters he couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face.

     He didn’t check his phone until before he decided to go to sleep, the sun about to rise. He had four messages.

**Unknown number:** Tis I, dat boi

**Unknown number:** o shit waddup

**Unknown number:** John. It’s john. I’ve memed please don’t hate me

**Unknown number:** you’re probably asleep. Sorry fam

 

     Alex smiled at the messages and decided to reply to them both in the morning.

     At least, a more reasonable hour of the morning than five-thirty.


	2. The Revolutionary Set

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going ....... to hell, with me

     The following days provided Alex a much more accurate account of what working in political newspapers was like. The Stance operated like a well-oiled machine, its gears grinding out sentences with each passing minute. What made it bearable for Alex was the Schuyler sisters, who were often in the building when they didn’t have class. He’d catch the eye of Eliza as he turned a corner, or see Angelica making copies in the break room, or take lunch with Peggy’s eternally jaded ass. They gave character to his hours at The Stance, and they were good at running the show when Mr. Big-Shot Schuyler was away. 

     On Friday morning, they published their weekly issue. The presidential section was being covered by conservative Samuel Seabury, whose “eloquent” redundancy was obviously beginning to get on Schuyler’s nerves. Seabury was starting to be unable to cover the sheer  _ amount _ of events, Schuyler explained to Alex, which is why he was taking over the Republican side. More quietly, Mr. Schuyler whispered:

     “He’ll be out in a few months, anyway. I have another writer who will be coming in to sit opposite you, working Democratic coverage, but he’s in France.” 

     Alex had his schedule all worked out with his guidance counselors, scheduled perfect time-blocks for his working hours and school hours, with spaces for a couple of small additions. Each morning, he would go to class; each afternoon, to the Schuyler Building; each evening, to Federalist Soup to do homework or research. There wasn’t much time for making friends or developing a social circle, but Alex figured his co-workers would be his real life friends anyway. And it wasn’t really as important to him, in the moment.

     He was non-stop, and there was nothing that could take down his determination.

     The exact minute Philip Schuyler dismissed him, at the end of the day with the sun down, Angelica rang the doorbell as she entered the building. 

     “Sorry, pops. I was out. But I got you the business card you wanted.” Walking quickly, she leaned forward on her toes and kissed his cheek. She then rummaged about her bag furiously.

     “Hey, Alexander. Will you be at Federalist Soup tonight? My sisters and I will be joining John’s party.” 

     Alex shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to be, then.”

     Angelica took a full seconds’ pause of her vivacious search to shoot him a brilliant smile. “Great. See you then.”

     He nodded at her, and then at Mr. Schuyler, who was inspecting the card Angelica had handed to him, a bright purple and gold design. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.”

     It was a Friday night. The very last place he would expect to be crowded was Federalist. And to be fair, it wasn’t crowded by daytime standards. But compared to the singularity of John Laurens, it was rush hour.

     John was the eye of the hurricane; Ria, the calm before the storm. Two men sat in one chair, the chair that Alex generally occupied, across from John. The one that was sitting on the other wore his curly hair in a ponytail, a vibrant pink workout tank with the words “Hard Rock Like Lancelot” embroidered unevenly in cheap looking blue crystals, and tacky tourist shorts. The one being sat on, looking clearly tired with the first’s shit, and also unbelievably muscular and intimidating, looked polished in all black. John was sitting in his Spot, head thrown back in laughter. It was like a snapshot, and Alex was glad he’d caught it. 

     Bedazzler Man caught his eye first and pointed.  _ “Mon ami! Vior!” _

     Alex, who was fluent in French, knew that he’d said  _ My friend! Behold! _

     He made no indication that he’d known the French itself, but did half-wave at the three. 

     John, who was seeming to struggle in brushing off the last of the residual laughter from whatever joke had been told, beckoned him over. “Hey, Alex. Did Ang say if they were coming or not?” 

     “Large dark roast?” asked Maria as he passed. 

     “Yes, to both.” He set his bag on the table next to theirs and grabbed a chair to pull up. “They’ll be here in a bit. Hi, I’m Alexander.”

     “Well, well.  _ Alexandre, bonsoir. J’mapelle Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette.  _ You can call me Lafayette, or Laf.”

     “Thank God,” Alex breathed. 

     The twinkle in Lafayette’s eye increased doubly as he pointed to the man he was sitting on, who still seemed resigned and vaguely pissed off. “And that’s -”

     John, Lafayette, and Maria (who actually had to put the drink she was working on  _ down _ , because the Screech was all-consuming) all busted this next guttural yell out in perfect unison, obviously having had much practice, “HERCULES MULLIGAN!”

     Hercules sighed, more and more fed up every passing second, but in an endeared way. “Herc. Please.”

     “He’s my, how you say,  _ amour,” _ whisper-yelled Lafayette, in an unapologetically boasting manner. 

     Hercules, expression not changing, turned to Alex and looked him straight in the eyes as he deadpanned, “I’m a tailor’s apprentice. I sew. And this shitbag still insists on wearing that monstrosity.” He gestured to Laf’s mismatched outfit.

     John chuckled. “Laf likes his weird patterns. And, dude, you are literally  _ fluent _ in English. Why do you insist on pretending you don’t know words?”

     He grinned. “Branding, bitch.”

     Alex felt good around them, especially since he now knew this was an LGBTQ friendly group overall. He knew John had been sad about Henry Laurens’ stance on conversion therapy, but he’d never asked John’s actual, personal view. Conversion therapy was seen as torture by people who were homophobic, too, he knew. And Alex was bi; he felt that this was kind of an important feature in a friendgroup.

     The bell dinged as someone entered. “Greetings!” called a female voice from behind Alex.

     Collectively, they turned - save Laf, who was already facing the door.

     “Ah, the Schuyler sisters,” said John with a smile. “Angelica, Eliza, and Pineapple. We’re gonna need a booth.”

     Angelica led the pack as per usual, in a deep pink dress and sandals that matched her bag. Eliza followed, in jeans and a comfortable looking blue tank, wearing heels, most likely to keep up with her sister’s height. Peggy was beside her, in sunny yellows and oranges, skirt and jewelry swooshing as she walked, hair pulled to one side in a frizzy controlled mess. She’d stuck her tongue out at “pineapple.” Another man followed a few steps behind them, in dark professional clothes, a quiet kind of thoughtfulness to his face.

     “We brought a guest,” said Eliza.

     “To my distaste,” added Angelica, obviously some sort of running joke.

     “Well,” said John with a low whistle. “If it ain’t the prodigy of Princeton college. Aaron Burr. I’m honored.”

     The name immediately peaked Alex’s interest. “Aaron Burr?”

     “That depends,” he replied, his deep voice only half joking. “Who’s asking?”

     “Oh, sure. My name is Alexander Hamilton.”

     Burr’s expression immediately shifted, but only subtly. “The one who beat me out for the job at Schuyler’s. Well, congratulations.”

     “There’s another spot up for grabs,” Alex offered as they shook hands. “Mr. Schuyler has someone in mind, but I’m sure if you applied a second time, I mean, he spoke very kindly of you, and I read your work (I hope you don’t mind) and I really loved it, your name has been all over the papers, I heard you’re an orphan and I just wanted to say that I’m an orphan too, and - ”

     “Whoa,” Burr chuckled, raising his hands defensively. “Talk less.”

     “What?” It took Alex a few heartbeats to register that he’d been speaking at breakneck pace. “Oh, right. Sorry. Sometimes I, ah, get overexcited, shoot of at the mouth.” Sheepishly, he rubbed the back of his neck.

     “It’s fine,” he assured. “Just, in this business, you know, sometimes you’ve got to wait for it. That’s why I’m not trying to bust your head over this Schuyler thing.”

     “Yeah,” Alex replied, feeling slightly queasy. He hoped he was doing alright - he’d never had a group of friends before. “I can appreciate that.”

     They took the table next to theirs, handed Alex his bag, and scooted it over so they were all sitting in an oval. 

     “So, John, Laf tells me you have a  _ crush, _ ” teased Peggy.

     John turned deep red. “Maybe,” he muttered.  He kicked Alex under the table - hard.

     “Ow!”

      “Sorry, I was aiming for Laf.”

     “‘S fine,” he muttered, rubbing his shin.

     Alex couldn’t help it: his throat closed at the notion of John having a crush. Worse yet, Laf, who had stolen Alex’s phone from its spot on the table and was putting numbers in like there was no tomorrow, knew who it was. He’d kind of expected everyone to be like him, in New York, quiet and to themselves. His first experiences with the residents of the city were not pleasant, and since, he’d kind of given up on forming bonds and all of that shit.

     Maria came over then with a tray of drinks. “Here we are. I figured y’all would be coming in - actually, I overheard - so I went ahead and made all of you your drinks. For Mr. Marquis, fruit lemonade, half-sweet. Mulligan, just for you, I opened a new packet of matcha. Alex, your dark roast. Same for Burr. Peg, a Devil’s chocolate mocha frappe. You’re gonna die, Pegs. Angelica, iced black, two creamers and three sugars for the sugar. And Eliza, of course, an iced caramel macchiato with caramel in the cup, just for you darlin’. Tell me about this crush, plain old fuckin’ hazlenut latte.”

     John glared at her, but whether it was about the crush or the drink insult, Alex couldn’t tell. “He’s pretty,” he grumbled.

     “Yeah,  _ that _ narrows it down.” Peggy sighed as she slipped Maria a hundred. “Pay it forward. Thanks, Ria.”

     “Rich kids.” Maria rolled her eyes as she sauntered away.

     Lafayette handed back Alex’s phone. “There. We leave John alone for now. Alex, now you have in your phone, how you say, the Squad. And you’re in the group chat.”

     He checked his contacts. There was John, of course, who he’d added himself and therefore didn’t have a strange name. Du Fromage, who he assumed was Laf, Hercules Horsefucker (which was a question Alex did  _ not  _  want to ask), Angel, and Pegboard. That was the group chat, for the most part, but there was one more he wasn’t sure about…”Darcy?”

     Eliza made a surprised noise. “Oh, that’s me. A reference to Pride and Prejudice?”

     It dawned on him, then. He’d read the book in the Caribbean (it was one of those cheap old paperbacks with the cover torn off, they’d had to manage for their English class, it was no secret his island was poor), but that was forever ago. “Ah. Elizabeth.”

     She flashed him a toothy grin.

     “And, um, Burrnt Toast?”

     Laf groaned, covering his face in what appeared to be annoyed embarrassment. “He wasn’t supposed to  _ know. _ ”

     Burr didn’t react.

     “And who’s this? BlueJay? Mad? Just Thomas?”

     “Mon ami.” He spread his arms, narrowly avoiding Herc’s face. “You will meet them all in good time. Oh, you simply must meet Thomas.”

     “Good luck getting him out of France,” mumbled Angelica. “I’ve tried. Dad wants him, but he  _ won’t come home. _ ”

_      France? _ Was this the same guy Philip Schuyler was considering hiring? “Thanks. I can finally keep up with your strange-ass shit, maybe get a social life or something. Most of the time I’m working or studying, so…”

     “Fridays are sleepover and movie nights at Laf’s house. I cook breakfast Saturdays,” said Hercules.

     “Lunch,” corrected Angelica.

     “Whatever the first meal you have when you wake up is, it’s called breakfast,” said Lafayette. “No matter the time of day.”

     She huffed at him. It was obvious they’d had this argument before.

     “I know we just kind of met, but do you wanna come to movie night tonight? You don’t have to sleep over if you don’t want to.” John’s voice sounded almost nervous, rushed.

     Alex looked around the table. John was right, he’d just met the group. He wasn’t too great with people, even in the Caribbean had few friends. But they all nodded at him, smiling, encouraging. He locked eyes with Angelica, who grinned enthusiastically, and Eliza beside her, whose entire face shone with a gentle encouragement. He couldn’t refuse that. “Sure. Why not?”

     A cheer went up.

     Alex smiled. Was this what he’d been missing out on? His career was on the fast track to success. His GPA was incredible. He knew that, so long as he continued to write like he was running out of time, this path would lead him to a future brighter than a hundred suns.

     But Alex was lonely; he had been since his mother died. He’d convinced himself that in New York, he would be a new man, he could reinvent himself, but there was an absence more and more abundant with each passing day, a hole where something was that he just couldn’t seem to put aside, no matter how hard he tried. It bothered him in his work and during school hours, the cavity in his chest.

     Now, he was pretty sure: this was it. This group, that he’d known only for a couple of hours, made him feel like family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey now ur a rockstar for finishing that chapter!! next one coming soon!  
> tumblr is ciceroniantrash! I'm up for all kinds of sinning


	3. I Wrote My Way Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for dissociation and flashbacks.  
> This fic WILL have odd formatting, it's my attempt to convey the reality of mental illness in writing form.  
> Disclaimer: the flashbacks/dissociation and any other portrayals of mental illness are personal to me and draw upon my individual experiences. My apologies if you feel I've misrepresented a mental illness. I'm open to suggestions and constructive criticism :)

     Maria forced them out at one in the morning. Burr had departed earlier, at midnight, something about having to do schoolwork. Alex felt a pang of guilt - he had a couple of essays to get done, but they weren’t due until next month. He could never convince himself to take a break, but John and Laf had managed. 

     They all, minus Burr, who was a “how you say, buzzkill” anyway and would “bring down movie night with his heavy tongue,” headed to Lafayette’s apartment, a couple of blocks away, laughing so loudly they scared most of the people on their side of the street into moving to the  _ other _ side.

     Alex realized as they entered the complex that he was still wearing his work clothes, and he hadn’t brought anything to change into. When he mentioned this, Hercules glanced backwards at him for a split second, and then said, “You’re about the same size as John, he’s got some stuff here.”

     John shrugged. “I’m forgetful. Hey, since Alex is new, I think he should pick a movie.”

     Alex took a nervous breath. He hadn’t seen very many movies, and was reluctant to admit it. People had judged him all his life - for being a bastard, for being a whore’s son, then for being orphaned. It wasn’t until he began to write, until he wrote his first poetry, that the judgement began to shift from bad to good. He didn’t want it to flip once more. He wasn’t sure he could endure it.

     Alex shrugged. “Whatever you want is fine.”

     “Nah.” John flung his arm around Alex’s shoulder “I want whatever you’re gonna choose.”

     “I, um,” he struggled to cover his inexperience with movies, suppressed by the novelty of John’s friendly arm and his own anxiety, “I don’t really watch very many movies. I read a lot more.”

     They arrived at Lafayette’s apartment, a messy loft that had probably cost him more to rent for a month than Alex had ever seen in his life. Just entering made Alex feel like he was going to destroy the place and owe his entire life in labor because he

_      destroyed everything you’ve ever touched - _

     Immediately, Angelica kicked off her shoes and flopped backwards onto the couch. Eliza took a nosedive onto the rug. Lafayette laughed in their direction as he went back towards the spiral stairs. “I am going to my bedroom, getting our new  _ ami  _ Alex something to change into. John, you too?”

     John nodded, but when he spoke, it was to Alex. “So? Pick something? Anything? An old favorite. A Disney movie. The Notebook. Whatever.”

     “Don’t try to influence him,” warned Angelica, still motionless with her legs hanging off the side of the couch. “We watched The Notebook last week. What about Frozen?”

     “Ang, you’ve seen Frozen probably about a hundred thousand times.”

     “I’ve never seen Frozen,” Alex ventured tentatively. He’d heard about it, but never had the chance or the cash. Not that he would tell anyone that.

     Angelica gasped, jumping up in a seemingly impossible and inhuman way. “I’m about to change your life,” she whispered, making her way over to the cabinet on the wall in front of the living room setup that opened to reveal an enormous television. 

     Sitting down in front of the couch, John rolled his eyes. “You really did it, Alex. We’ve gotta watch Angelica’s Problematic Fave again.”

     “You did say  _ any  _ movie,” Eliza offered.

     “Yeah,” he laughed, “I’m just joking.”

     “Turtles or stripes?” yelled Lafayette from the top of the stairs. 

     “Turtles, duh,” called John in response. Immediately a pair of pajama pants wadded in a loose ball and tied with the drawstrings came flying from Lafayette’s direction. It hit John in the back of the head.

     Lafayette cackled. “How you say, fucking bulls-eye! Now for Alex. I shall return.”

     Alex was acutely aware that he was the only one still standing, but he didn’t really know what to do, or where to sit.

     Angelica turned on the television. “So, Alex. Where’s your family from? I caught a hint of an accent.”

     His chest constricted like he’d been hit by a train. 

     Alex had been trying to hide his accent, however slight it was, hoping the question wouldn’t come. A slight mention was enough make it start again but he wouldn’t let it he  _ wouldn’t - _ “Unimportant. There’s a million things I haven’t done.”

     He felt every eye in the room turn to himself. Laf, who had missed the entire exchange, came bounding down the stairs: “I think these will suffice, A - what has happened?”

_      The scent. The scent of rain. A scream. Alex couldn’t breathe. _ He had to get out of here. 

     “ThankyouLafI’lltakethatandchangeinthebathroom,” he said, making a beeline for the Frenchman. He grabbed the pajama set and ran up the stairs, not even sure  _ where _ the bathroom was but he had to get away from 

_      the scent of rain. I can’t lose these friends I can’t  _ **_rain_ **

     Forward was the bedroom.  _ Breathe _ . The door to the left led to another bedroom.  _ Breathe _ . The door to the right.  _ Breathe _ . The bathroom.  _ Breathe _ .

     Alex walked in, closed the door behind him, locked it.  _ Breathe _ .

     He wasn’t in Lafayette’s fancy loft bathroom, sitting on the toilet lid.  _ He was back home, in his shack. He was seventeen. His mother was already dead, he was still reliving the memories. He tried to think of the times when he was young, when she held him - but all that came was her death. When she died and she was holding him. _

     His head hurt. 

_      The right end of his roof collapsed under the rain. The wind swept the rest up. _

_      He couldn’t seem to die. The least he could do was not scream, but -  _

     “Alex?”

_      He looked around. There was nobody there. _

     “Alex!” the voice was more urgent.  _ He didn’t know this voice. _

_      Something slammed into him, violently. His world shook, pain and pain and pain and pain and then -  _ it was over.

     His was overexerted. Alex could hear his heartbeat in his ears, so loud and so quick. 

     The room was white, but he wasn’t dead.  _ He still wasn’t dead. _

     "Alex.”

_      Breathe _ .

     “Alex, are you okay?” He knew this voice. John. It was John’s voice. 

     Breathe.

     Alex felt his mind calm, just a little, just enough to tune in to his surroundings. He was sitting on Lafayette’s toilet seat, in a tacky Paris-themed bathroom, clutching a pair of blue pants like there was no tomorrow, knuckles white. He was shaking.

     Pink turtle print pajamas and turtle slippers made their way over to him. Alex didn’t bother to associate the image with the voice with the face. “Alexander.”

     His heart hurt.

_      A disembodied hand placed itself on his shoulder. The rest of the Pajamas came into view. _

     John’s face.

     He hadn’t blinked in too long. He forced it, and the world came into focus again. “How long was I out?” Even to his ears, his voice was raspy.

     “It’s been about ten minutes.” John seemed hesitant and careful.

     “Fuck.” The tears found their way into his eyes, without his consent. “ _Shit_.”

     “Alex, what happened? Do you want to talk about it?”

     He shook his head. It would ruin every chance he had, in New York. It would ruin any chance of having friends here. They’d hate him, if they knew he was a bastard, orphan, son of a whore from the Caribbean.

     John offered him a hand. “If it helps, I don’t like to talk about my past either.”

     Alex shook his head again. “Have to change.”

     “Okay,” John said with a wary gleam in his eye. ”I’ll be out there, alright?”

     He nodded. When John shut the door behind him, Alex made himself  _ breathe and slowly put himself in the borrowed clothes. _

_      You’ll have to tell them eventually, _ his mind said.  _ And when you do they’ll hate you. They’ll hate you hate you hate you hate you hate hate hate _

_      STOP. _

     Alex shook back into the real world, just as the door opened. John seemed panicked.

_      Play it off. _ “What?”  _ Oh yeah, real smooth. _

     “You were hitting the wall,” he said cautiously. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

     His mask broke. Alex examined his hand, unsure of where the time went and what had been happening, and the tears that had threatened him flooded like his own personal _hurricane_. “I just don’t want to talk about it.”

     John just looked at him. Eventually, he looked away, ran his hand through his hair, and said to the ground, “Look, I know you might not feel comfortable with us yet. But, ah. We’re a good group. And I’m not trying to push you, please don’t think that, but you can tell any one of us anything.”

     Alex didn’t know which was worse: having them hate him because he was a poor whore’s son, or having them hate him because he seemed stuck up and pissed off.

     “The Caribbean,” he said before he could stop himself.

     “What?”

     He closed his eyes again, pretended he was talking to himself. “I’m from a small island on the Caribbean. My father was Scottish; I’m a bastard. When I was ten, he left. My mother and I were impoverished, in squalor, and we fell ill. Both of us. I got better, but she died when I was twelve. I moved in with a cousin, he committed suicide. I started working, clerking,  for my mother’s old landlord, so that I could read and learn. When I was seventeen, a hurricane destroyed my town. I started writing, wrote my way out of the pain. That’s what got me here. The people around me, they started passing around a plate to get me on a ship to New York so I could become something great. I’m on full scholarship to Columbia. There. You know my story. Is that to your satisfaction?”

     All he could hear was his own heavy breathing. 

_      Alexander you screwed up you screwed up so badly he’s going to hate you and he’s going to tell the rest of them and they’re all going to hate you too and you’re never going to have any friends and wow your big mouth never helps anyone or anything and you need to learn to shut the fuck up and-  _

     John pulled him up from against the wall, but not harshly, as Alex would have expected. And then he hugged him, which was even less expected. “You really didn’t have to tell me, Alex,” he whispered. “But I’m glad you did.”

     Alex opened his eyes, still nervous. “You...you don’t hate me? You aren’t like, disgusted by me, or anything?”

     “Of course not. And hey, if you decide to say anything to the others, they won’t be, either. There’s no…there’s no reason.”

     He pulled back. This close, Alex noticed that he had freckles all over his face, not just on his nose and cheeks. They were on his forehead, chin, even his eyelids. His brown eyes were flecked with gold. His skin was perfectly smooth, meticulously crafted.

     “You wanna go?”

     Alex nodded, squaring his shoulders.  _ He’s probably just pretending, just being a nice person because he  _ is _ a nice person -  _

_      Would you let me have one  _ fucking  _ evening in peace. _

_      No. _

     Downstairs, the movie hadn’t started yet. Alex’s heart began to race as they turned upon hearing the two descend. He didn’t want this.

     But their reactions again were strange, not what Alex had prepared for. The sisters broke into identical wide grins. Laf, once more sitting on Hercules, stomped his feet enthusiastically, which would have been weird - except for the fact that his feet couldn’t reach the ground, which made it beyond weird.

     Angelica hit a button on the remote, and the television sprang to life in animation. She sat on the couch with Herc and Lafayette. Peggy was sprawled out across cross-legged Eliza, on the floor. Eliza patted the spot on the rug next to her.

     “We popped popcorn,” she said, offering him the bowl.

     Alex wasn’t sure if his stomach could handle it at the moment, but he took a few salty, buttery puffs anyway, just to prove he wasn’t trying to be impolite.

     “I’m sorry to run off like that, guys.”

     “ _ C’est bien. Au moins avait une minute uniquement John avec vous.” _

     Alex felt his cheeks flush. What did that mean?  _ “Qu'est-ce que vous entendez par là?” _

     He knew he fucked up when Lafayette gasped, and then let out a laugh louder enough to make Angelica huff and restart the movie.  _ “Vous parlez Francais?” _

_      “Je parle couramment.”  _ So much for keeping a secret.

     Peggy shushed him, shoving a handful of popcorn in her mouth as the ice-cutting song began again.

     And there was finally quiet. John sat next to him, leaned back against the armchair. He fell asleep first, only a couple of minutes into the movie. Laf and Herc were next - Alex could tell because there was a loud flop as Lafayette fell backwards down onto the couch, and Hercules snored.

     Eliza was nodding off when Hans revealed his true intentions, but was awakened by Alex’s screech. 

     “That’s not  _ fair. _ I was rooting for you! We were all rooting for you, and you betrayed us! How  _ could _ you?” 

     Angelica wailed in agreement, but Peggy only laughed. Eliza yawned and grabbed another handful of popcorn.

     Alex wasn’t even tired, by the end of the movie, but all three of the sisters fell asleep not long after. 

     Around six in the morning, Alex began to tire of fidgeting endlessly in one place. He was tired by now, but not comfortable enough to sleep, so decided to do some more research on Henry Laurens, who would be arriving on Tuesday of the next week. Though John had been a true godsend - how had he found half of this stuff? There was nothing about most of what he’d said on the internet, which made Alex doubt him slightly, but he seemed so  _ certain _ , and he had the backup decisions and receipts to prove it - he still had so much to learn.

     Six hours later, he’d barely felt a minute pass, but the sun was bright and high in the sky, and his friends were starting to wake up one by one. Lafayette was first, but he woke only to shake Hercules awake and then promptly go back to sleep.

     Hercules looked Alex in the eyes and sighed. “He’s impossible. Wakes me up just to make him food, and doesn’t even say a fucking word.”

     Alex laughed. That was the kind of boyfriend he’d probably be, he had to admit it. “If you want some help, I know how to cook.”

     Hercules raised an eyebrow. “Do you know how to make waffles?”

     It couldn’t be that difficult. “Sure.”

     “Good. Can you slice fruit? That’s a yes, don’t answer that if you want to keep talking to me. Basic knife skills are a fucking must if you want to be my friend.”

     “No worries there. So,” he asked quietly on the way over to the kitchen, laptop still open and charger in tow, “How do you feel about Washington?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do NOT speak French.  
> *c’est bien. Au moins avait une minute uniquement John avec vous. - It is fine. At least John had a minute alone with you.  
> *Qu'est-ce que vous entendez par là? - what is it that you mean by that?  
> *Vous parlez Francais? - you speak French?  
> *Je parle couramment - I am fluent
> 
> Come sin with me on tumblr~ ciceroniantrash  
> As someone who is currently on chapter 7, this gets MORE dramatic, so stick around!!


	4. I Couldn't Seem To Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All trigger warnings still apply. Strange formatting to follow, intrusive thoughts, dissociation, depression etc  
> If you wanna yell, my tumblr is open: ciceroniantrash

     It was 10 pm on Saturday, and Alex was at the library instead of Federalist. He had  _ official  _ school work to do; it had been put off and put off again due to his newfound job and “social life.”

     Sure it was nice to watch a movie with some friends, have a sleepover, all of that - the experiences that seemed to be common everywhere he looked. They bound people together, the people that he wished to be like. But there was an essay assigned on Friday that he hadn’t even  _ started _ yet. And Philip needed him to keep his grades up.

     Once he and Herc had made waffles, bacon, fruit, and eggs, everyone woke up on their own. Angelica and Eliza packed up and left, Angelica grabbing a waffle and slice of bacon while Eliza just filled up her water bottle and smiled at them, each wrapping their respective acquisitions in a paper towel. It seemed like they’d done this before.

_      “Au revoir, mon ami,”  _ Lafayette waved them a dramatic goodbye.

     “See you later, Laf.” Angelica raised her waffe as she opened the main apartment door, rattling the keys stuck inside the keyhole.

     “I trust that I’ll see you sometime soon, too, Alex?” Eliza asked as she passed. 

     He nodded, but then realized that she couldn’t see it, and replied verbally, “Sure. I mean, I work for your dad.”

     Eliza laughed, a sound like silver bells. “Yeah, I guess you do.”

     Hercules handed him a plate, a real plate, not one made of paper. Lafayette was clearly loaded, if it wasn’t clearly visible from the apartment, then certainly from the real silverware and real plates.

     Alex didn’t know where to sit, on the bar stools or on the couch or on the floor? Peggy, having grabbed two waffles and a spoonful of eggs, immediately went for the couch, so Alex hesitantly followed.

     “I’m going to a party tonight, if anyone wants to come,” she  offered. “Ang and Eliza aren’t interested, those fucking nerds.”

     John, deciding on a bar stool, shook his head. “I have some stuff to do, for next week.”

     “Oh yeah, your dad is coming into town, right?”

     Alex looked up from his plate. “He is? That’s neat.”

     John shook his head. “I’m not spending time with him. In fact, I’m busy planning my week so that I never run into him.”

     Alex remembered that John didn’t like to talk about his past, so he didn’t push. 

     “I, for one, would love to go,” said Lafayette.

     “I guess that means I’ll go too,” said Hercules. “But you owe me one.”

     They looked at Alex, who panicked. 

     “He didn’t sleep,” Herc jumped in, joining John and Lafayette at the island. “I think he’d rather rest, am I right?”

     Alex had so much work to do, but instead of explaining, he nodded and shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth,

     Hours later (he didn’t know what time, but it  _ was _ dark outside), he was in the library. There was an essay he needed to write, after all. Had been assigned Friday and he hadn’t. Even.  _ Started _ .

     Alex ignored his phone, buzzing every once in a while; he knew if he picked up the stupid thing to check a text he would lose his place in his essay and therefore lose focus.

     That was, he ignored it until somebody made the brave and possibly dumb decision to call him. 

     Alex blinked hard to break from the screen and swiped right without bothering to check the caller ID. 

     “Hello?”

     “Alex.” John’s voice, strained.

     He sighed. “I’m busy, John.”

     “Where are you?”

     “Library."

     “Jesus fuck.” And then the other end of the line went flat.

_      As long as I’m distracted, I might as well check my messages. _

 

**Angel:** Do you have the assignment from Revere’s class?

**Angel:** I got them no worries

**Darcy:** are you okay~

**Pegboard:** ?????

**Hercules Horsefucker:** hey

**Hercules Horsefucker:** hey

**Hercules Horsefucker:** hey

**Du Fromage:** Pourquoi ne pas répondre?

**Hercules Horsefucker:** get the fuck outta here with ur dumbass french

**Du Fromage:** u love me tho

 

     The panic was beginning to set in. They were worried, he had

_      ruined- _

     Outside of the group chat:

 

**John:** sup?

**John:** Alex?

**John:** Alex, please reply

**Maria:** Everyone’s worrying, where are you?

**John:** Listen,,,

 

     Alex managed to type out a response message to the group with his shaky hands:

 

**Alex:** im fine

 

     He put his head in his hands.

_      You destroy everything you touch. You destroy everything everything everythingeverythingeverythingeverythingevvthinevtineverytnhng everryaa everyastsad every _

_      e/v/e/r/y/t/h/i/n/g. _

_      y.o.u.t.o.u.c.h. _

**_Deep Breath._ **

_      I have so much work to do. _

     He drew himself back up, mechanical now, shaking the words and voices out of his head with flying fingertips and lengthy sentences, screaming at the page with his entire soul, reaching into himself and ignoring himself, semicolon after semicolon flung in pursuit of the pain never seemed to make any difference, because 

_      you destroy everything you touch. _

     Alex didn’t notice when John came to the library and called his name. He didn’t notice when John narrowly missed his head with a stress ball. He didn’t notice when, more concerned now that he knew Alex wasn’t noticing, John made his way over to the messy station and picked up papers slowly, examining them, reading Alex’s notes and annotations and terrible handwriting. 

     He only noticed when John reached an arm across his face and shook both of his shoulders. 

     His sentence stopped mid-word, a blinking cursor urging him on. 

     It wasn’t anger on John’s face, nor was it concern, nor was it disappointment. Alex didn’t know what was in John’s eyes. But he did know that John kneeled down next to him and pulled Alex close to his chest.

     “You’ve been crying.”

     “Have I.”

**m-e-c-h-a-n-i-c-a-l** .

     He just wanted to get some work done. He just wanted to pull through on his grades. He just wanted  **suck it up** to drink some Red Bull and power through the night and  **suck it up** write some essays.

     “What’s wrong? I didn’t push you before, but now I have to.”

     Quietly: “I destroy everything I touch.”

     “What?”

     “I destroyed my family. I destroyed my mother. I destroyed my cousin. I destroyed my employer, destroyed my town. I didn’t drown. But so many did. I’ll probably destroy The Stance when I go to Laurens’ news conference. I’ll destroy the Schuyler sisters. I destroyed the beginnings of all of my friendships up until now, and I just destroyed all of you, too. You’d do best to leave me be.”

_      Why are you talking to him? _

     John reacted just like he had when Alex told his story.  _ If you would  _ **_stop_ ** _ looking at me like that -  _

     “Come on. Pack up. I’m taking you to the dorm.”

     “No. It’s only -” he checked the clock “- ten thirty (ten thirty? When did it become ten-thirty?). I have a lot to do. You need to leave. I don’t need to leave. I’m not even tired.”  
That was a lie, and he knew John knew it was a lie. 

     “Alex.” His voice was so tired.  _ He’s so tired of you. You destroy every  _ “Please?’

     No.

     “If you aren’t coming, I’m staying with you.”

     Well, if that was how he was going to play it. “Whose dorm?”

     “Mine, if you’re fine with that.”

     “Won’t your roommate mind?”

     “My roommate is Hercules. That’s how I met Laf.”

     Alex’s heart was plotting an escape route. “I don’t want him to be mad at me.”

     “They’ll never be mad at you. I’ll never be mad at you.”

     “Never?”

     “Well, if you started committing murders, it might be a different story. But other than that.”

     Alex found that hard to believe, but there was something blooming deep in his stomach.; it was something he hadn’t felt in a long time, and wasn’t sure he’d ever feel again. Hope. Different hope than Schuyler offered from his employment. Different hope than New York offered in its novelty and opportunity.

     Alex slowly closed his laptop, not breaking eye contact with John, who grinned widely and nodded to the top of the shelf next to him. “Have you read that?”

     He scrutinized the title displayed and then shook his head. 

     “You should check it out some time.” John handed him a few of the papers that he’d stacked, probably out of order and slightly crinkled. “What’s your favorite book?”

     He thought for a minute as he shoved the folder into his backpack. “I like Les Miserables, but in the original French. And The Count of Monte Cristo.”

     John wrinkled his nose. “Only classics? Don’t be one of Those Guys.” The capital letters were palpable, bitter.

     “I haven’t read much new stuff,” he admitted.

     “Have you read Harry Potter?”

     He shook his head again.

     John gasped like Alex had killed his mother. “What the  _ fuck, _ Hamilton. We have to change that.”

     Alex smiled, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He tossed the energy drink in the trash. But a thought entered his mind that made him immediately throw the smile into the trash behind the Red Bull. “You don’t deserve to be annihilated by the likes of me.”

     John didn’t drop his smile as easily as Alex had, but his eyes... “Let’s head out. You watch movies in the Caribbean? What was your favorite?”. 

     He chatted, falsely bright, the entire way to his dorm, not nailing down a topic but instead asking sweeping questions about Alex and his life and favorite and least favorite things.

     John swung open the door to his dorm. “What’s your biggest political pet peeve?”

     Alex looked around. It was small, almost exactly like his, with two beds and a load of undone laundry. But John’s dorm had been lived in; Alex hardly spent a second in his, and since he was a transfer kid, he didn’t have a roommate.

     “Probably people who believe it’s their right to politically interfere on who can marry and who can’t,” he replied with a shrug.  “I’m bisexual,  and I’d like to be able to marry a guy if I want to one day. It’s nobody else’s business.”

     Something inside of him, deep down, realized that he’d outed himself. But something else didn’t care, as he watched John ready Herc’s empty bed. And of course by “ready,” he meant “sweep clothes onto the floor.”

     “Yeah, I think I’d have to agree with that.” A quick glance. “I’m gay, in case you didn’t know.”

     Alex shrugged. “That’s fine.”

     “Alright, Alex, you gotta sleep.” The smile interfered with his words, curling them around the edges. 

     He protested internally, but only nodded and slipped under the covers fully clothed, which made John laugh.

     The way his eyes crinkled, his teeth shone, his wide lips curled upwards...Alex decided that he was going to have to do that more often. Make John Laurens laugh.

     His phone buzzed as John disappeared into a closet with a cheeky joke about  _ never going into the closet again, no worries. _

 

**Angel:** you worried us :(

**Angel:** but it’s okay, so long as you’re safe <3

**Darcy:** you are safe right????? U didn’t use any punctuation and that scares me

**John:** guys, he’s with me. He’s fine

 

     Alex rolled his eyes.

 

**Alex:** Honestly, you guys, where would I go?

 

     “GO TO FUCKING SLEEP ALEXANDER HAMILTON,” screeched John from the closet.

 

**Alex:** John’s in the closet again.

**Pegboard:** John Laurens.

**Pegboard:** Not this shit again. I know your dad is coming to town but…..

 

     “I’m gonna hurt you, Alex.”

 

**John:** 1\. I am changing in the fucking closet as not to upset my GUEST just in CASE 2. Go to bed Alex I can fuckin hear you

**Alex:** Fine.

**Darcy:** Goodnight~

 

     He turned off his phone then, and realized that the ceiling was covered in posters. Not the walls, oh no, that would be too mainstream for John Fucking Laurens - the  _ ceiling. _ Protests, Black Lives Matter, prides, paintings, concert posters, anything, everything.

     “You know? It would be fun to get all of the Laurens in a room together. LIke you and your father and mother if she’s coming or something and then Senator Henry Laurens and his family. Be a cool story,” he managed through yawns. “You have more than one pair of turtle pajamas?”

     John had thrown open the closet door, still only half dressed, but fuming. “Don’t even start. I’m not getting in a room with the Senator, much less my  _ dad _ . Forget about it. Let me put my fucking shirt on in peace without wanting to punch someone in the neck.”

     Alex closed his eyes, which, despite the Red Bull and coffee, were drooping on their own. “A’ight.”

_      You destroy everything you touch. _

     His eyes shot open. “Fucking  _ shit _ .”

     “You okay?” John asked, halfway in his t-shirt.

     “No,” he admitted, the word sneaking past his defenses.

     John paused, then finished putting his shirt on and walked over to Alex’s - Hercules’ - bed. “You know what I did today? Asking you all of those questions? I’ll bet it was annoying, like, shut the hecking damn up Laurens, you piece of shit. Like, I didn’t risk that for nothing. I had a point. You know what it was?”

     He furrowed his eyebrows. “I thought you were just being a good friend.”

_      John Laurens laughed. _

     “I guess in a way I was. Some people find it good to talk through their problems, other people find it better to use distraction methods. There’s a theory called harm reduction, it’s used a lot in treatment of addiction. Heroin addicts, for instance? There’s no proven way to treat heroin addiction at a reasonable percentage. Most end up going back. So there’s this drug that clinics use to treat heroin addicts, right? And it’s a pretty bad drug, too, but not as bad as heroin, and it gives you nearly the same high. There’s a proven way to get people to taper off of that drug, so these clinics trying to treat these patients intentionally give them harmful drugs. Because they know that in the long run, it’s the only way to save their lives.I knew you were in a bad place, and I knew you would think all of my questions were annoying and I was fake and too overly bouncy and all of that shit. But I figured that I’d rather have you moderately irritated with me than stuck in that bad place in your head. I was purposefully distracting you because I knew you’d be one of those people. I am, too. Been in therapy since my dad disowned me five years ago. And I want to help you as much as I can, because. Well. I care about you. You’re my friend.”

     Alex had no idea what to say to that, no idea what to make of it, so he settled on a lame, “Thanks.”

     A small sliver of a smile appeared on John’s face, but the full one was evident in his eyes. “Any time. Good night, Alex. I’ll see you in the morning.”

     “I’m not going anywhere. Good night.”

     He wasn’t sure he’d slept that well in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I still do not speak French  
> \- Pourquoi ne pas répondre? - why do you not reply?  
> Chapter 5 is written, double-checked, and will be going up in a few days! Special thanks to The Angst Queen (you know who you are....wink) for encouraging me to continue writing this fic, even indirectly. I'd probably have given up a lil while ago if it wasn't for you


	5. Take A Break, Alexander. That's An Order From Your Commander.

     Tuesday had been a nearly endless stream in Alex’s mind, but he had to get through Monday first. 

     Mondays: the bane of all things good, the exhausted coffee stained breaths in the air, the gentle buzz of computers and machines still in rest mode from the weekend, the scent of Lysol cleaning spray and stale breakfast bagels. The beginning of the dreaded  _ productivity. _

     Mondays had always been Alex’s favorite days.

     It was the least crowded day, at The Stance, since they published Fridays. Mr. Schuyler was always in Mondays, at least until the mid-afternoon.

     Around two, Schuyler called Alex into his office to go over the preparation for the Laurens conference the next day.

     “You will be surrounded by people of the likes of television anchors and superstar journalists. You’ll be the underdog, Mr. Hamilton, and The Stance is well respected. I am already taking a risk in sending you. And these questions -” he pointed to the sheet he’d previously slid across the desk “- are not going to do the entire job. I need you, we need you, to be invincible. Look. I know Laurens pisses you off. He pisses  _ me _ off. But The Stance needs you to emerge with answers, with respect, with yourself and your reputation and  _ our _ reputation intact. Can you do that?”

     “Yes, sir.”

     “Consider it on my orders, then, that you go and have some fun today. Take the rest of the day off. No partying, please avoid the drinking, all of that, but I know you have been working hard this past while. I’ve heard you blend in well with the friends of my daughters. Relax, tonight. That’s a demand, Mr. Hamilton.”

     Alex took the papers, groups of questions highlighted and circled and starred and added to . Schuyler stood and clapped him on the shoulder.

     “Practice the asking, if you need to. But don’t stress about it too much.”

     “Yes, sir.”

     It was too early to go to Federalist, and he had no idea where the Schuylers were...Alex considered doing classwork or homework anyway, but he knew that Mr. Schuyler would catch wind of it somehow. He couldn’t disobey direct orders.

_      I’ll just check my email before I leave, then. _

     Two emails. 

philipschuyler@thestance to one group : Team meeting at 6 pm. Unless you have been notified otherwise.

     Alex rolled his eyes. How  _ subtle. _

     The next email was from an address he didn’t recognize, but it looked important, so he opened it anyway.

gwashington@gov to hamiltona@thestance : Mr. Hamilton, good evening. This is George Washington. I am close friends with Mr. Schuyler, your employer, and I have been working intimately with him on the Revolutionary Initiative. I have been following you since your appointment, and I would like to commend your efforts, and meet with you in person. I will be in New York shortly after Senator Laurens leaves. From your work, I know that greatness lies in you. Please get back to me soon. And from here on in, call me George.

 

     Alex read and reread and reread the email. George Washington? As in, the George Washington?  _ Mr. Hamilton, good evening. This is George Washington… _

     Head spinning, wide eyed, he shut his laptop and packed up his station with alacrity and texted John.

 

**Alex:** Schuyler is making me have fun. Can you believe that?

**John:** you wanna come over? im at Laf’s and i have some news

**Alex:** Sounds good. Who else is there?

**John:** Laf and Herc and Ang and Jimmy James. Oh yeah you gotta meet Mads! get here quick before they leave!!! 

**Alex:** I’ll be right there.

 

     Alex remembered the location of Laf’s apartment fairly well. And when he knocked on the door, it only took one knock - immediately, Lafayette swung the door open.

_      "Bonjour!” _

     Today’s monstrous outfit was worse than the first, a mess of colored stripes and polka dots and paisley, but Lafayette seemed to pull it all off somehow. 

     “Bonjour, Lafayette.” Alex peeked around Laf’s broad shoulders. “John, Herc, Angelica. And you must be...actually, I don’t know your first name. Or your last name. I just kind of know your, ah, concept.”

     “James. James Madison.” James had a green-tee-shirt clad arm slung around Angelica, and raised the other in a half-wave.

     “Nice to meet you.”

     “I hear you’re a polisci major? I am, as well. And our boyfriend, Thomas -”

     “ _ Your  _ boyfriend, Thomas,” Angelica cut in.

     “-  _ my _ boyfriend, Thomas, is a journalism major. He, too, works for The Stance.”

     “He will when he fucking leaves France, the rich ass peice of shit.” Angelica rolled her eyes.

     “Would you look at who’s talking?” James laughed in response. He glanced up at Alex. “I’m the only one in this relationship who’s gonna have student debt to pay off.”.

     “Okay, John shut his mouth when he got the text from you, so we do not know this news he was boasting of either. If it is that you are gay, John,  _ mon ami,  _ we  _ know. _ You literally never shut up about  _ pretty men.” _

     John glared at Lafayette. “If you’re gonna be rude, I won’t tell you.”

     Laf pursed his lips. “Go on.”

     Alex dropped his bag by the door and decided to avoid the Angelica/Madison and Hercules/Lafayette situations by sitting on the armrest of the chair. 

     Next to him, John took a deep breath. “You guys are probably going to scream at me for thinking this is big news, but  _ I’m _ enthused, so I’m going to tell you anyway. I’m changing my major. Which, I know, I know, like, a lot of people don’t even care about majors until junior year and some people change their majors time after time, but I really think I’ve found what I’m passionate about. And that’s why I’m excited.”

     Alex felt the happiness for John bloom in his chest before he could react in a positive way verbally, but Angelica, who was ever quick witted, immediately shot back a, “Are you going to tell your father when he comes in tomorrow?”

     He raised his eyebrows. “What a coincidence. Senator Laurens is coming in tomorrow, as well. What if they met, like, instead of snakes on a plane, Laurenses on a plane.”

     Angelica opened her mouth, eyes narrowed, but John cut her off. “Well snakes and Laurenses are basically the same thing anyway. And, um, I’m going to tell him because I think he’d be more pleased with it than the art thing. And then I’m never going to speak to him again.”

     “Alex, I don't know where you've been, but John’s dad -”

     “- really hated my doing art and shit, especially as a major, but I really love it. Which is why I’ve decided to bump marine bio from my minor and make art my minor, and take psych for my major. I’ve settled on being an art therapist.”

     Remembering the last night, Alex said, “You do have a remarkable ability to make people feel better.”

     John looked up at him, teeth practically shining in the light emitted from his eyes. Something in the room’s atmosphere had changed, but Alex couldn’t put a finger on it. Ozone. “Thanks. So, other than the fact you’re doing that conference thing tomorrow, what’s new at Schuylers’?”

     He wasn’t sure whether to tell them about the email or not. Considering the fact that he wasn’t even entirely certain of its legitimacy.  “Well, I’m not really sure what it means,” he began.

     “Continue,” said Hercules.

     “But I may or may not have received an email from Democratic nominee George Washington?”

     “What!” Angelica screamed.

     “Hey, not in my ear,” mumbled James.

     “That’s great! What did he want?” 

     “Uh, he wanted to meet me.”

     “You’re gonna meet the next president?” John jumped out of the chair. “You’ve gotta take me.”

     Alex laughed at his optimism. “King and Laurens have a large electoral base. We have a full election to get through.”

     “They’re gonna have a hard time beating Washington.”

     Alex hesitated, because he knew what he was going to say would upset them all. “I think Laurens has a real shot.”

     John’s already fallen face turned to stone. 

     “Do not say that,  _ mon ami _ .”

     He shrugged. “Look, I hate that racist, misogynistic, homophobic, xenophobic, Christian supremacist lizard asshole as much as the next guy. But I’ve been studying the data practically endlessly, it's like, my _job,_  and...well, if he beats King for the nomination, he has a fantastic chance against Washington. It sucks, but it’s true.”

     “It is ,” agreed Angelica, “and it’s a legitimate threat to this nation.”

     “King’s the incumbent. I want to get rid of him, too - refuses to represent minorities, fucking dickwad - but I’d prefer him to Laurens. And aside from the obvious, he has so little dirt on him. There’s literally nothing we can say about him that he hasn’t proclaimed in the open. I’ve dug into all of his files, all of his votes, as much as I could in the past few days. I have work to do, yeah, but he’s got...nothing. Pure ass fucker.”

     “I’m sure there’s something,” John said, his voice thick. “There’s gotta be something.”

     “Well, I mean, you would know,” snorted James. “You’re -”

     “An expert,” John cut him off.

     The way he said it hit Alex in his chest. There was an urgency, a panic. Alex felt deeply that something wasn’t right, and he realized that was the feeling that he’d had since he walked into the room. It was as if someone had moved all the furniture in the room a half inch to the left.

     There was a silence so heavy it could have brought down the Brooklyn Bridge.

     “Guys? Am I missing something?”

     Each of them looked at the others in panicked stupor.

_      He doesn’t know?  _ said Angelica’s face.

_      You think I would tell him?  _ screamed back John’s.

_      Shit, _ said Hercules’.

_      Merde, _ agreed Lafayette’s.

     James pursed his lips.

     John’s tears were a thunderstorm in the middle of a sunny summer afternoon.  _ The ozone _ . “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

     Alex’s breath hitched. _This is your fault. Obviously._ _ You’ve destroyed something else, again.  _ “No, I’m sorry. I’ll leave.”

     “Alex, no.” John caught his arm and Alex’s world

     s-t-o-p-p-e-d.

     A freckled face drew 1500mL of air through dotted pink lips. Hair shook curls free from a loosely tied ponytail. Brownhazelgold eyes closed and opened after a long pause. “Henry Laurens  _ is  _ my asshole father. Like. The senator., Henry Laurens. The one you’re meeting tomorrow.”

     Alex’s body, not connected with his mind, was entirely stagnant.

_      You destroy everything you touch. _

     n-o-r-e-a-c-t-i-o-n.

     “Oh, god.” John’s voice broke heartbreakingly as he buried his face in his hand. “I’m so sorry, Alex, I was trying to keep myself separate from him, so many people think that we’re alike and we’re  _ not _ , okay, I just wanted to make a friend without being stigmatized like that, I fucking  _ hate _ the man and when I came out he disowned me, he erased me from his shitty ass narrative and every webpage because having a gay son would ruin his - hic - shot at being president and he didn’t want to throw away his - hic -  fucking shot and I didn’t fit into his story, you see, and I just wanted to be free of him and I - hic -  _ really _ like you okay and you seemed to hate him and I figured the pity card was the better one to play - hic - because I didn’t want to fuck up  _ my  _ chances and -”

     “John.” The voice wasn’t his, but it wasn’t HercAngLafMad’s either.

     Maybe it was. It had to be, because John flinched as he looked into Alex’s eyes.

     “John,” he said again, feeling his mind fall back onto the top of his head. He still wasn’t where he needed to be (as in, in his own body) but it was better than before. 

     “That wasn’t harm reduction distraction,” John said weakly. “If that helps. That was just me being an ass. Alexander. I’m so fucking sorry.”

     “It’s okay, John.” This time, he was sure the voice was his. His eyes worked again, his mouth moved in the proper way, his muscles responded when he reached to touch John’s shoulder. “It’s fine. I understand.”

    “You aren’t angry?” It was barely a whisper.

     Alex shook his head, lying through his teeth. He was angry, but either way - “Lying about your past? I’d do the same thing. Damn, I fucking  _ did. _ And you pried it out of me.”

     “What’s this?” asked Angelica. “John Clueless Laurens knows something I don’t?”

     “And  _ moi?”  _ Lafayette put an offended hand to his chest.

     “I’m kind of secretive about my family history,” he admitted. “See, you’d make a great art therapist. Because you can get people to talk.”

_      John Laurens laughed. _

     “Thanks, Alex."

     “Anyway, did I hear a confession in there somewhere? John? Something about - ” Herc’s tone was as teasing as a deep bass could get.

     “A confession that my dad is a fucking  _ dickholeasspissfucker.” _

     “Well you’re not wrong,” said Angelica after an almost comic silence.

     “So, I’m meeting with him tomorrow. I think…” Alex hesitated. Yeah, he was upset with John for not being open with him. But there was so much more inside him now.  “I think I have a plan. It' a good one. But if I tell you, I’m afraid it won’t work.”

     “Cool. Can't wait. Do you want to get pizza?” asked Lafayette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's probably not the Big Reveal you wanted, but there's more Suffering to come, just you wait.  
> Special thanks to Jessie A_Mind_At_Work for the read-through and the Angst. Her Pain keeps me going.  
> Tumblr: ciceroniantrash


	6. History Has its Eyes on You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hooooooooooo boy  
> you are in for a Ride  
> When did we all collectively decide that Henry Laurens was such a bad person? I love it

     The building was crowded and irritatingly hot, but Alex was determined not to let it bother him.

     There were anchors from the most widely viewed broadcasting channels, journalists from across the nation, cameras and microphones and bodies everywhere. Alex had never been _truly_ shy - he tended to think much of himself before the action and in the moment, but afterwards regretted everything immensely - but the atmosphere was not welcoming to someone like him.

     Schuyler was right. He wasn’t going easy on Alex whatsoever.

     But if Alex found a way to soar, found his niche, while in  the Revolutionary Initiative, he wouldn’t have to pay for his Columbia education.

     There was a spot marked for him on the back of a grey folding chair, in the second row from the podium.

_A. Ham. The Stance._

     He swallowed hard. If this went as planned, he might not be welcomed back. It would take a miracle - perhaps Schuyler, who would certainly be satisfied - to keep him in The Initiative. If he lost his pace, it would equate throwing away his shot. He could almost -

     but for John.

     This was a different kind of ambition, the quiet kind. The more personal kind. Sometimes running is equal to shooting a gun is equal to letting it be. Sometimes they were one and the same.

     He’d gotten there, the south edge of what was considered upstate, a few hours early. He reviewed his notes and waited for the others to file in and sit down behind him. When it was time, the room seemed to take a collective breath.

     Laurens’ campaign manager came from behind the curtain first, introduced him and was greeted and sent away by polite applause.

     Senator Henry Laurens looked exactly like his google images pictures: white hair and dark eyes, failed fake tan, belonged in a country club playing golf and drinking Arnold Palmers served by a single dad caddy who couldn’t support himself or his children on the poor paying of the only job he could get caddying for _Henry fucking Laurens._

     His voice sounded exactly the same as him in video, velvety and annoyingly smooth, just a step away from oily.  “Good afternoon. Thank you. I will begin with a short statement, and then we will have time for questions.”

     His statement was the same old stuff Alex had read on his website, a quick word about how _wonderful_ New York had been to him and how _wonderful_ it would be to take the nomination. His discussion of his reasons for coming to the city was short and to the point. It was evident that he didn’t want to waste time.

     The first few reporters fired off questions, clearly comfortable with the limelight and the buzz, before Alex could even raise his hand.

     The journalists scribbled on their notepads, caring none about the rolling cameras and competing microphones.

     When he realized that it was more frantic than he had assumed it would be, Alex became assertive. He was eventually called on.

     “Sir, I’ll take your question now.”

     “Good afternoon, Senator Laurens. My name is Alexander Hamilton, I’m from The Stance.”

     “Lovely magazine.”

     “It’s a newspaper, sir. Historically speaking, he First Family has been instrumental in aiding a candidate’s public image. What is your family like, sir? What values do you as a unit aim to transfer to the American people?”

     Laurens looked disgruntled to be dealing with such a personal question instead of something more policy-oriented, but he didn’t brush it off. “Well, I have been very open about my close knit family. My wife, the future First Lady, Eleanor, and our daughter Martha, all stand for the same values of community and traditional Christian familial love. We love God and we love each other, and we will love the American people.”

     Alex took a deep breath. _Now._ “What about your son?”

     The senator froze. “What son?”

     “The one that you disowned and erased from the records. John.”

     “I have no _son._ ” But the panic was visible in his eyes.

     “Really,” Alex said levelly. “That’s funny, because I go to school with him. He’s the closest friend I’ve got.”

     The air in the room had changed so drastically, snow in a friendly desert community where the sun was hot, the moon was beautiful, and everyone was a fake ass PTA mom with brownies at the bake sale.

     “Security, please remove this young upstart from the premises,” Henry Laurens raged.

     “You can remove me, but you’re going to have a hard time removing someone with a birth certificate that’s got your name on it.” To the security guards that rushed at him in the uproar, “I will leave on my own as soon as Laurens answers for his broken family.”

     “My family is not broken.”

     The guards grabbed him by the arms, but he gestured to the things he had yet to pack and they released him. “John Laurens. A human being kinder than anyone I have ever met, welcomed me into his life with open arms, which is more than he can say for his own father. I urge you to look him up. And _then_ consider who you are voting for.”

     Security escorted him out, but did not touch him again.

 

 **Alex:** Eliza, can you come and get me?

 **Darcy:** on my way :)

 **John:** damn alex what did u do

 **Alex:** I’ll tell you later. :))))

 

     When Eliza arrived, Peggy was riding shotgun. The youngest Schuyler sister whipped her entire body to face Alex as he slid into the back seat.

     “What the _fuck_ did you do, Alex?”

     He couldn’t help it. He began to laugh, and didn’t stop for five minutes. When he finally quieted down, they were stuck in traffic.

     “Alright buddy, if you don’t shut the hell up with your laughter and tell me what’s going on, I’m texting John to meet us at Federalist, and you’re going to have _more_ answering to do..”

 

 **Alex:** John, can you meet us at Federalist?

 

     “Too late, but I’ll tell you anyway.”

     “Bitch,” grumbled Peggy.

 

 **John:** Actually, can you guys meet us at Laf’s?

 **Alex:** Perfect. That way, we can watch the news.

 

     “You made the _news?”_

     “What? What am I missing?” Eliza was being a Good Driver and had her phone in her bag.

     “I don’t know if I made news, but I think it’ll surface eventually.”

 

 **Angel:** dad is laughing really hard downstairs and saying your name over and over again?

 **Angel:** what happened????

 **Angel:** I’m going to Laf’s immediately

 **Hercules Horsefucker:** shit alex

 **Alex:** :)))))))

 

     “Looks like you did make the news.” said Peggy.

 

 **Du Fromage:** I paused when they said your name. Get here, how u say, asap

 **Pegboard:** holy shit liza’s doing the best she can

 **Pegboard:** make her peppermint tea pls

 

     Alex sighed. “I started talking about John in the middle of the conference questions.”

     “That was your _plan?_ John is going to be so upset!”

     “Perhaps not,” said Eliza. “That has the possibility to drop Henry’s popularity.”

     “It’s so weird that you’ve met him and call him by his first name and everything.” Peggy shook her head.

     She shrugged. “If you didn’t hate going to dad’s work events so much as a kid, you’d be in with me and Ang. Anyway, What did you say about John?”

     “You’ll see.” He wasn’t trying to be a complete asshole, not really. Alex was just tired of thinking about the disaster. But at least Schuyler wasn’t _mad._

     The final portion of the drive and the actual walking to Lafayette’s apartment was tense and confused and expectant. Lafayette yelled as he opened the door.

     Alex saw the reporter on the television screen from the doorway, sitting above a headline “Stance Journalist Slams Laurens.”

     “Well, hit the play button,” he said, taking the seat next to John on the couch.

     “Whatever you did,” John warned, but his tone was humored.

     “This is Ben Franklin coming at you with a special report right out of upstate New York, where The Stance republican contributor Alexander Hamilton was escorted out of presidential candidate Senator Henry Laurens’ press conference. The scene wherein Hamilton accused Laurens of _familial disunity_ , of all things, was all captured by our cameras. It began when he asked Laurens how his family would play into his campaign, and Laurens lied about his relations. Here is the footage.”

     John offered a sidelong glance as the screen turned from the famous reporter to a blurry image of Alex.

     “Well, I have been very open about my close knit family. My wife, the future First Lady, Eleanor, and our daughter Martha, all stand for the same values of community and traditional Christian familial love. We love God and we love each other, and we will love the American people.”

     “What about your son?”

     “What son?”

     “The one that you disowned and erased from the records. John.”

     “I have no son.”

     Angelica, who descended the stairs at this moment, let out a strangled noise of surprise.

     “Really. That’s funny, because I go to school with him. He’s the closest friend I’ve got.”

     “Security, please remove this young upstart from the premises.”

     “You can remove me, but you’re going to have a hard time removing someone with a birth certificate that’s got your name on it. I will leave on my own as soon as Laurens answers for his broken family.”

     “My family is not broken.”

     “John Laurens. A human being kinder than anyone I have ever met, welcomed me into his life with open arms, which is more than he can say for his own father. I urge you to look him up. And then consider who you are voting for.”

     The screen split between him being escorted out and Senator Laurens’ fuming face.

     “We have done research in the depths of federal records, and it seems that Senator Laurens does have a son he has not told the public about, a student at Columbia, named John. It is clear that he’s been trying to erase this son from the public records, but he’s been doing a poor job on the federal level. Disowned for being gay, or something more? We’re awaiting response from Hamilton’s employer, my co-worker Philip Schuyler, as well as Mr. Laurens’ son and Hamilton himself. More on this story as it comes to you. Now back to your regularly scheduled programming, and remember - don’t cry over spilt milk.”

     Lafayette paused the television again, and they all sat in silence for a few minutes, staring at Benjamin Franklin’s face.

     “I hope you aren’t mad,” Alex offered lamely.

     John finally raised his head, Alex wasn’t sure when he had bowed it, tears in his eyes. “Was all of that true?”

     “Was all of what true? I mean, you yourself told me about how -”

     “About me being the best friend you’ve got?”

     “I mean, the rest of you are great but I met John first and - oh!”

     John hugged him, and then

_John Laurens laughed._

     Alex’s entire world slowed down when John Laurens laughed.

     “Thank you so much,” he whispered.

     Alex pulled back from the hug and put a hand on John’s cheek to steady his shaking face.

     “Listen, John. I hate how much hatred your father is filled with. I am disgusted by his policy. I am disgusted with his bullheadedness, I am disgusted by the party platform this year. I am disgusted by many of the things I see in politics. I am disgusted that I see so much injustice; all I wish is to correct it. In short, I am disgusted with every thing in this world but yourself. I would do anything for you.”

     “Could y’all go be gay in a different room?” muttered Hercules.

     It took Alex a couple of seconds to register what Herc had said, because they were so close and he could feel John’s heat and he _liked it_ , he really liked it, and John’s perfect starry lips and they were _so close_ and

     no.

_Alex, you can’t._

_Show me how to say no to this._

     A phone rang.

 ** _LISTEN UP YOU_ ** _FUCKER._

     Peggy, who had covered her eyes, was the one to pick it up, most likely because the phone belonged to her.

     Alex blinked a few times to break eye contact with John, who turned away with an awkward cough.

     “A-a-rawn. What’s shaking? Alex? Yeah, he’s here.” She handed the phone to Alex.

     “Aaron?”

     Burr’s voice came from the speakers. “Alexander. I heard about what you did. Thank you for sticking up for John, that was kind of you. But…”

     “But?”

     “But I want to give you a word of warning. Sometimes, in journalism...it’s better to talk less. Don’t let them know what you’re against or what you’re for. Fools who run their mouths - well, their careers wind up dead.”

     His throat went dry. “I’d rather be divisive than indecisive.”

     “You’re a good friend, Alexander. I can appreciate that, but the press is relentless.”

     “Hate the sin, love the sinner.”

     A soft chuckle. “Very well then, Alexander. I do wish I’d been there. Please text me - I know you have my number (in case you missed it, I’m Burrnt Toast) so that I can have yours. And be careful.”

     How could Aaron manage to enunciate a _parenthesis?_

     This time, it was Alex’s phone ringing. “One more, guys, sorry.” To Aaron: “Sorry, Burr, I gotta go.”

     “Mr. Hamilton?”

     He stood. “Mr. Schuyler.”

     “Hamilton. We have much to discuss, but first, there is someone on the line who would like to speak with you.”

     Alex put a hand over the phone’s bottom. “I need to take this privately. I’m going upstairs.”

     As he ascended, a deep and frightening yet kind and warm voice boomed from the phone. Alex would recognize that voice from anywhere. George Washington.

     “You know, Mr. Hamilton, when I was given my first command, I led my men straight into a massacre. Witnessed their deaths firsthand. I made every mistake, and even now I lie awake, knowing history has its eyes on me.”

     “Sir?”

     “Let me tell you what I wish I’d known, when I was young and dreamed of glory. You have no control, who lives who dies, and who tells your story.”

     “Um, Mr. Washington -”

     “I know that we can win.”

     “With all due respect, sir -”

     “Just remember from here on in, history has its eyes on _you_. My apologies. I had to get that all out before I allowed you to speak. It was one coherent blob, you see, in my mind.”

     “Mr. Washington, I’m not entirely sure what you’re talking about. Sir.”

     There was a static silence, and when Washington spoke again, it was slow and careful and deliberate.

     “Mr. Hamilton, you single-handedly took down Senator Henry Laurens. It would be foolish of me not to thank you. I hope you consider my offer to meet with me when I arrive in the Empire State. I will be hurrying my arrival to this week, Friday. I will leave you be, for now.”

     Alex leaned against the wall to steady himself. “Absolutely.”

     “We’ll be in touch, then. I must leave, I am sorry. In this time I am very busy.”

     “Understandable, sir. I look forward to our meeting.”

     “Very well. Philip will call you back. I’m proud of you, son.”

     Once he hung up, Alex said to the empty line: “I’m not your son.”

     Still in a stupor, Alex made his way back down the stairs. His friends were all talking animatedly about who knows what, over the gentle talk of the television. John was the first to look up at him.

     “Who was that?”

     “George Washington,” Alex explained, feeling like an eggshell.

     “How you say, damn.” Lafayette whistled.

     Alex shrugged, shaking slightly in attempt to put himself

_back in his body._

     “He wants to meet with me.”

     “This is an ABC News special report. I'm Benjamin Franklin. Senator Henry Laurens has opened the second press conference of the day. Hamilton is not in the room where it’ll happen,” he joked, “so this one will probably be better than the first. Let’s tune in.”

     The camera was catching Laurens rising to the stage, face more red than tan this time. He looked incredibly nervous.

     “Good afternoon -”

 ** _“BOO!”_ ** came the call from everyone in the room.

      “Good afternoon -”

**_“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…”_ **

_John Laurens laughed. He hid his smile in the palm of his hand until his lips couldn’t fit any more, until he laughed so fully and so heartily that Alex felt his gut shatter._

_I don’t know how to say no to this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> tumblr: ciceroniantrash  
> Thanks once more to Jessie, who has read this fic up to I think chapter 11??? 10??? they blend together at some point. Anyway, she's Great.  
> Next chapter going up Wednesday!


	7. The World Turned Upside-Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, for the Angst Queen

     Peggy shushed them as Laurens licked his lips. Behind him, a dark woman with freckled skin and bright eyes stood with a young woman whose blonde hair faded to dyed white tips.

     John leaned over to Alex and whispered, “My mother, Eleanor, and half-sister, Martha.”

     Eventually, the boos calmed down to a barely-there mutter of disapproval.

     Laurens began again. “Good afternoon. I am not here to speak with you, I am here to introduce my wife, Eleanor.”

     It was short enough introduction that the crowd wasn’t too disgruntled, and Eleanor was so much more likeable.

     She addressed the press with love, with kindness, with a sad sort of pride. Alex could see the admiration in John’s eyes, and he had to share it. She was such a sweet woman, so gentle and beautiful, just like John.

     He had to admit it, at least to himself: Alex had it  _ bad. _

_      You destroy your friendships. No, you destroy  _ everything  _ you touch. _

     So he shook the snapshot of John’s joyful and bright face out of his mind and focused on Eleanor’s words. The way she spoke, spun tales of happiness in the Laurens household, warm evenings in the summer spent around a campfire and cool winters together, Henry and Eleanor and Martha and John, ice skating and hockey playing over a frozen pond at their vacation spot. South Carolina’s schools for John and Martha and homework questions over dinner tables. Henry’s run for the senate. John, John, John.

     It was hard to ignore his feelings for John when he’d just discovered them, the two so close ( _ soclose) _ and so proud of the other, and when Eleanor looked like him and spoke like him and acted like him. When she talked about mostly him.

     “I know you were unable to get in touch with John. He is avoiding speaking to the press, most likely, avoiding his father like his father avoids him. I cannot forgive Henry for what he’s done. But I can make a case as to why I love him. And I can ask Martha to do the same.”

     Martha shook her head.

     “Good,” John said under his breath. “She hates the man. Eleanor does, too, but she’s more likely to take one for the team.”

     “But she is reserved. John is reserved. Both of them are kind and compassionate and shy. And I have been asked to say on the behalf of my husband, Senator Henry Laurens of South Carolina, that he is taking all considerations into account and officially suspending his campaign for the presidency.”

     “Oh!” said Eliza, but it was lost against Peggy’s loud screaming. Hercules and Lafayette jumped up like their favorite teams had scored a goal in a football game. 

     “How you say, fucking  _ win!”  _

     John threw his arms around Alex. He could feel the tears along his scalp. “All thanks to you.”

     Alex smiled over his ear, hoping John couldn’t feel his heartbeat. “He didn’t deserve to be a Senator. Or a father. He doesn’t deserve to know you.”

     John just hugged him more tightly as the cheers went up from the television and the room alone. Phones began to buzz as the group chat reacted. Alex ignored them.

     Eventually, John released his grip and wiped the tears from his eyes. “Fuck the narrative, I hope he’s erased from the god-damned  _ earth. _ ”

     “I would give that to you, if I could,” Alex admitted. 

     “Alexander.” John’s serious tone and serious face and -

_      John Laurens laughed  _

_      and leaned forward  _

_      and kissed him _

_      kissed him _

_      kissed Alex’s cheek. _

_      the whole world  _

_      the whole world _

_      whole world _

_turned upside-down._

     Everything began to move again around him, but Alex couldn’t stop seeing it from underwater.

     What had happened was so outlandish that Alex knew it wouldn’t feel real for hours, maybe even days. More likely weeks. He literally  _ ruined  _ Senator and presidential candidate Henry Laurens. And George Washington had called him. And Laurens had suspended his campaign. And he had been kissed by the most wonderful human being on planet earth. All in the same day. Hell, in the same few hours.

     This was different than dissociation: when Alex dissociated, he hovered above his body. He watched the world from a higher shelf, from a different plane. He could feel his thoughts happening to a mind that was not his, that was  _ different _ from his. And when he went into flashback, it was he who stayed the same and his environs that shifted planes and linear time. But this....this was surrealism, the feeling one got in the hospital either late at night or early in the morning, driving down a deserted six-lane highway, a dimly lit bowling alley, a beach in the middle of winter. His eyes saw from their sockets and his brain thought from his head, all of his movements were proportionally timed. But everything was  _ strange,  _ and everything was slipping. Alex could feel himself beginning to think

_      You destroy everything you touch _

     But this was good destruction, Henry Laurens destruction, he argued back.

_iT’LL BE THEM_ _soon enough_

     Eliza grabbed Angelica’s arm, tossed her hair aside, bright face shining, jumping up and down. A phone rang, Alex didn’t know whose.

     Angelica reached into her purse and swiped. “Jefferson.” It wasn’t a greeting, it was a demand, cold as ice and unwelcoming.

     She rolled her eyes as the voice came from the other line. “Yes, I know. Yes. Yeah. I know that. Listen, Thomas, you know I hate the guy -” She pursed her lips for a second, clearly interrupted, and rolled her eyes.. “I don’t agree with that.” Another pause. “So are you voting Washington when you come back? If you come back?”

     Alex shot John a look. Thomas wasn’t going to vote for Washington? 

     “Good. Okay. Madison sends his regards. No, I will not tell him you love him. You have his fucking phone number, Thomas.”

     John pumped his fist.

     “Yes, I agree. We do need to talk. Goodbye, Thomas.”

     Angelica turned to them with a grin on her face that perfectly juxtaposed her bitter demeanor on the phone. “You got Washington another voter! Tom was voting Laurens until now!”

     “Why isn’t he voting King, then?”

     “He  _ hates _ King. Come on. Rich Boy Thomas Jefferson? King’s tax plan made him flip shit.”

     “I thought King planned to cut taxes for the wealthy?”

     “He  _ was _ . That’s the point. He loves paying taxes. Tom says it makes him feel important.”

     “Who  _ is _ this guy?” Alex was perplexed, perhaps a relative of Lafayette’s? He was in France, after all. But he had been voting Laurens, which probably meant a distant relative, for a glance at Lafayette told him that it would be hard to even imagine anyone related to him voting for that  _ scumbag.  _ At least he payed his fucking taxes.

     Laf jumped up. “When I first came to America, he was my, how you say, tour guide. It is how I was acquainted with Angelica and the rest of this crew.”

     “Ang and Mads and Thomas are dating,” explained Peggy, “and once you’ve got a hold on one of us, the rest follow.”

     “James and Tom are dating, and I’m dating James. I am not dating Thomas.”

     “We all know you are,” teased Eliza. “When James showed you Thomas’ love letters, you said, and I quote,  _ I want to be included in the sequel. _ ”

     Angelica turned dark red and mumbled something unintelligible under her breath. 

     “I’m sorry, what was that?” asked Hercules.

     Teasing her seemed to be an inside joke, and it was obvious why: Angelica clearly liked Thomas, quite a lot, but didn’t want to admit it to his face. Alex had never met anyone openly in a polyamorous relationship, but he supposed New York was a different world.

     “I said, he’s very eloquent. And he plays the violin. Anyway, Alex, I know he sounds bad. He’s just got different opinions, he was raised in a very different household. Though I’m not quite sure why he’d support a man who would beg conversion therapy for him, Tom’s a really great guy. I promise.”

     “I believe you,” he assured her.

     “He sucks,” argued John. “I have never agreed with Jefferson  _ once _ .”

     “Thomas is a polarizing person,” Laf said. “But,  _ mon ami _ , Angelica is right.”

     “Whatever,” John muttered.

     Alex’s phone buzzed.

 

**Mad:** congrats

 

     James Madison had a way with words.

 

**Maria:** Get em

 

     Eliza toyed with her hair. “Our little Alexander Hamilton is now a national sensation.”

     “Don’t be surprised when your history books mention me,” he joked.

     “I wouldn’t be. I’m just surprised he suspended his campaign that early. I’ve never seen anyone ruin their  _ own  _ life.” Angelica pursed her lips. 

_      You destroy everything you touch. _

     “I probably will,” Alex muttered. He had been sure nobody could hear him, but John looked over with concerned eyes and touched his arm.

_      Not romantically, _ Alex reminded himself.  _ Just platonically. _

     He needed to get away, calm down. The emotions had rolled in like a dust storm when he saw himself speaking about John on television. He hadn’t noticed how passionate he sounded, how fiery he was in defense of 

_      the closest friend I’ve got _

     and how he felt in that moment was so overturned by the anger but when he  _ saw it  _  and then  _ John Laurens laughed and kissed him and _

_      Alex. You have to learn to keep a friend every once in a while,  _ he told himself sternly. 

     “Are you okay?”

     Alex jumped. He hadn’t noticed John lean over, after his warm hands found Alex’s forearm, but the words were more of a breath on his ear than actual sound.

     He closed his eyes. “Fine. Just...overwhelmed, you know?”

     "One second. Come up after a little bit.” In a normal speaking voice, “Laf, can I spend the night here?”

     “Of course, mon ami.”

     “I’m going upstairs to change. No need to spend time in my clothes when I could be in pajamas.” He bounded up the stairs.

     “Are we going to order in?” asked Angelica.

     Seeming oddly nervous, Eliza bumbled, “It’s a little early for that, don’t you think?”

     “The vegetarian place down the street delivers,” Hercules offered. “And by the time they get here, it’ll be around six.”

     “I’ll place an order, since all of you are fucking scared of telephones,” giggled Peggy. “The usuals? Alex? Have you ever been there?” He shook his head. “I’ll order for you. Guarantee you’ll love it.”

     “Peggy’s a  _ food magician, _ ” Lafayette agreed. 

     “Guys, I’m gonna go to the bathroom, be right back.” Alex made his escape upstairs then. John waved at him from the guest bedroom, already wearing his turtle pants.

     “Alex, what’s going on?”

     He gulped. “I wasn’t lying when I said I was overwhelmed.”

     “I know you are. But that doesn’t seem like it all.”

_      Fuck. _ John knew him well, for someone he’d not known for his entire life. For someone who

_      has a crush, right? John has a crush on someone else someone _

_      who probably likes him too; who wouldn't? _

_      Don’t ruin this, Alexander _

_      you destroy everything you touch _

     “Just kind of spacey, you know?”

     John narrowed his eyes. “Dissociation’s more than just being  _ spacey, _ Alex.”

     How the  _ fuck _ did he know? 

     “I know I haven’t taken psych yet, and I know I’m not your therapist, I’m your friend. But I’ve spent years learning how to handle dissociation. If you ever need anything at all, I’m here for you. So is everyone down there. We’re a squad. We don’t leave each other behind. I know you might not believe us, but we all love you, Alex.”

_      To ask or not to ask? _

_      You destroy - _

_      To hell with it.  _ “So uh, kind of off topic, but I think it needs saying. Whoever you like...they’re really lucky. And if you need anything from me, I’m an excellent wingman.”

     Alex could notice John’s blush from a mile away. “Thanks. I, um, I think I’m the lucky one. You know, just to be around them. They’re so wonderful, just a fraction of their time is enough.”

     He couldn’t help but wish that John would someday find him as wonderful. “Can I at least ask if they’re male or female? Both? Neither?”

     John tugged at a stray curl. “Male, as far as I know. He’s, um. He’s fascinating. He’s a more incredible and kind person than I could have ever hoped to meet, much less associate with in even a small way. But we should get back down there. You know, before anyone gets suspicious.”

     Alex, who had expected the pang of jealousy but asked the question anyway, nodded. “You first.”

     “And you’ll be okay?”

     “I will.” It was a feigned promise, but it was a hopeful one. 

     He figured he had a minute or two before he should be going back down, to think about what John had said. To figure out whoever this person was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)))))) how u doin (((((((;  
> come scream @ me on tumblr! ciceroniantrash


	8. It's Alright, You Wanna Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when Philip/Friedrich happened, but I'm not sorry

     The next day, Alex was a kind of celebrity at school. His classmates either high-fived him, or shot glares his way, depending on how they were voting. One of his professors was quite openly  less than impressed, but she refrained from making comments during class or disrupting his work, so that was appreciated. 

     Alex was met at The Stance by a crowd of reporters, loud and pushy and warm and he couldn’t make his way into the building without shoving them out of the way. 

     “Mr. Hamilton? Alexander?”

     Alex was mildly claustrophobic, and he hoped he wasn’t being rude by making sure he got some space before turning to them.

     “I’m gonna be late for work,” he joked. A mumble of laughter.

     "Mr. Hamilton? Why did you feel the need to expose Senator Laurens, and what do you gain from this?”

     Cameras flashed and microphones came at him.

     “Well, like I said, I go to school with John Laurens. He doesn’t deserve that treatment. Nobody does. And the United States doesn’t, either. We don’t need that in a president.

     What do I gain? I gain peace of mind. It’s enough to know that Henry Laurens got what he deserved. It’s enough to know that the United States will never fall under the control of such a man.”

     “Are you worried about your career being in jeopardy?”

     “All the time,” he admitted, earning him another chuckle from the press.

     “Do you see yourself ever going into politics?”

     “I’m a political science major, so possibly. If I believe I can contribute and make a real difference.”

     “I’m sure you saw Senator Laurens’ six-tweet series shaming you for your action? What do you have to say to that?”

     He had. “I think it shows his heart, almost as much as disowning his son. He isn’t fit for the presidency. He’s too choleric.”

     The door opened behind him. “Good morning,” Eliza said cheerily, but there was a strange and uncharacteristic underlying bitterness to her tone. “I’m sorry to steal Alexander from you.” She took him by the arm and pulled him inside. “Press don’t let you go if you aren’t insistent on leaving,” she explained. “Once they kept Angelica and I for four hours. So dad sent me to get you.”

     Alex nodded, grateful.

     The building was becoming more familiar. He enjoyed being there, he felt good. More so than at school, even. Because here, no matter the political and moral and social opinions of the people around him, everyone  _ respected _ each other. It was an odd sort of haven, a place Alex never could have imagined existing. But Philip Schuyler was the common boss, and the common enemy was undone work. There was no time for petty feud.

     When they reached Alex’s desk, Eliza motioned for him to follow her further and led him into Mr. Schuyler’s office.

     He’d been there before of course, more than a few times. It was a large room, neat, dark wood on light floors and white walls, filing cabinets and desks and seating in a semisquare pattern. In the back right corner was a door that led to a break room. On the left wall was a door that led into a smaller office, where the sisters usually spent their time. The window was unobstructed, revealing Peggy reclining along the couch, typing something rapidly on her computer. Eliza smiled at him in a way that didn’t reach her eyes, entered the smaller office, and shut the door quietly behind her.

     Philip Schuyler sat at the main desk, his foreboding presence making Alex unbelievably nervous. Very seriously, he said, “How does a rag-tag overwhelmed journalist in need of a long nap somehow defeat a Republican superpower?”

     Alex didn’t know how to respond. 

     “How do we emerge victorious in the newspaper, leave the press conference holding ourselves just a little higher?” And then he began to laugh, a deep and booming noise that made Peggy and Eliza jump in the corner of Alex’s eye. “Where did you celebrate, last night?”

     “Lafayette’s.”

     “You deserved it. Mr. Hamilton, I’m not sure I can ever say this enough, or that anyone else can. You are a real hero.”

     He ventured with a smile. “Thank you, sir.”

     “I’ve known George for years. I’ve known his campaign manager, Friedrich, for years. But, would you believe it, they reached out to me  _ about you _ yesterday. Hamilton, it seems I’m unable to be hold on to new hirees. Both Nathaniel Greene and Henry Knox also want to hire you.”

     “Do do what?”

     “Be their secretary.”

     “I don’t think so.”

     "Now why are you upset?” came a voice from the back of the room.

     “I’m not.” He was.

     The break room door had opened. A man with dark hair and an impressive mustache emerged from it, holding a stack of files. “My apologies. I had to run and make copies of these. It’s my pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hamilton. My name is Friedrich von Steuben. I’m Philip’s, ah,  _ close friend, _ and more importantly, George Washington’s campaign manager. He sent me ahead of him, as you know, he will be arriving soon. I’m here to speak with you and Philip about Washington and his campaign.”

     “Friedrich, sit down, please,” Schuyler said as von Steuben shook Alex’s hand.

     “Anything for you,” he replied with a wink. Schuyler narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Hamilton, since George is now the presumptive Democratic nominee, he is looking to expand his team. We feel you have promise, and we’d appreciate if you join us. Washington will be setting up shop, to put it one way, in New York City for a while during the Democratic Convention. Here’s some paperwork -” he plopped down half of the files “- and we’d appreciate if you considered. I know you’re part of the Revolutionary Initiative -”

     “He’s quite a large part of my own team, you know that, right, Friedrich?” Something told Alex that von Steuben hadn’t told Schuyler exactly what he’d be discussing.

     “Philip, if you would let me  _ finish, _ please?” His tone made it seem like there was more than one meaning to that sentence, and Alex  _ did not _ feel the need to be privy to the details. The very idea made him squirm a little in his seat as Schuyler turned bright red.

     “Friedrich, that’s entirely inappropriate for the workplace. On a related note, please don’t take Mr. Hamilton off of my staff. I’ll beg, if I have to -”

     “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

     “ _ Friedrich -” _

     “Either way, that is why I do not intend on ripping you from this office, neither does George.”

     Alex opened his mouth, and then closed it, and opened it again. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think I can keep up working more than one job as well as going to school. I’m buried already, and -”

     “We are willing to work with you. You will not be required every day, nor for many hours a day. Alexander, all I’m asking is that you consider possibly working with George and his speech writers.” 

     Alex glanced back and forth between Schuyler, still steaming from the ears, and von Steuben’s hopeful round face. “I’ll consider it.”

     “Good. Please have an answer for George when he arrives. And Philip…” he offered another wink, this time with his opposite eye as he stood, and rapped twice on the table. Huskily, he continued, “I’ll see you later.”

     Schuyler’s eyes froze, wider than saucers. He looked mortified.

     As von Steuben began to shut the door behind him, Alex clearly made out Peggy yell from the side-office, “Hah!  _ Gaaay!” _

**_“MARGARET SCHUYLER.”_ **

     Peggy hid behind her textbook as Eliza concealed her laughter behind her hands. Alex didn’t know what to do; thankfully, Philip moved on quickly. 

     “I know that it is difficult and disreputable to write a story covering your own events. That is why I’ve asked Samuel Seabury to take on one more week of joint coverage. Our editors will make sure there is nothing too bad in it about you, though I doubt Seabury will hold it against you. He is a King supporter; you’ve eliminated the competition, in his eyes.”

     “Thank you, sir. I’ll send an email to Mr. Seabury with what I already have written. None of it involves myself, I did not get that far.”

     “Thank you, Mr. Hamilton. Now, if you’d excuse, I have a lot of work to do...and you have a Democratic nominee to contact. Feel free to take off of work early. I never thought I would say that so often, but Hamilton, honestly you’ve smashed every one of my expectations.”

     “Thank  _ you _ , sir. I’ll contact General Washington.” He raised from the seat, eager to take the idea of Schuyler and von Steuben out of his head as quickly as humanly possible. 

 

hamiltona@thestance to gwashington@gov :Good afternoon, General Washington. In light of recent events, Mr. von Steuben has come to The Stance in order to convince me to join your campaign. I come at you today to say that I would be honored to be a part of your narrative, but there are things I must consider. When we meet later this week, I will have a decision ready for you.

hamiltona@thestance to seaburys@thestance : Sam, Here is my piece for this week’s paper. My apologies for dumping this on you once more. [one file attached]

     When his phone buzzed, it took him a second to remember that he’d changed all of his contacts to their real names. They didn’t need to know, but Alex had a hard time keeping up with who the fuck Darcy and Pegboard were. He still hadn’t texted Burr(nt Toast).

 

**Peggy:** lmao, guys, Alex just witnessed how Gay dad is for Fred

**Angelica:** PEg

**Peggy:** it wasn’t my fault u fucker

**John:** your dad has a gay crush?

**Eliza:** he has the GAYEST gay crush. Have you ever MET Fred von Steuben???

**Alex:** It was indeed an experience…

**Peggy:** I’m in trouble, lmao

**Eliza:** you literally shouted “GAAAAY” as Fred left the room

**Peggy:** was I wrong tho

 

     Alex decided to ignore the group chat for a second and shoot Aaron a text.

 

**Alex:** It’s Alex. :)

**Aaron:** Thank you. ;)

 

**Peggy:** Earth to Alexander? 

 

     He checked his previous messages; all of them were from John.

 

**John:** I’m at Fed rn, Alex, are u free?

**John:** if not we can call it “business”

**John:** hello

**John:** well if u wanted me dead u could just say so 

**John:** lmao I was kidding

**John:** ???? pls don’t be mad????

 

     So he replied, heart in his stomach, not wanting to admit that he _ couldn’t _ go to see John, because he might  _ cry, _ he hadn’t thought of almost anything but John today,  _ John John John John JOHN _ :

 

**Alex:** I’m sorry.

**Alex:** I don’t know...I have so much work to do.

**John:** please?

 

     Alex would  _ die if he ruined this _

_      you destroy everything you touch _

_      I will hurt you _

 

**Alex:** Okay.

**John:** :D

 

     Alex took a deep breath and let it out slowly, because his mind was buzzing at a different plane. 

     John  _ liked someone _ . Not him. Someone who wasn’t him. Because he wasn’t all those things John had described, he wasn’t wonderful or fascinating or incredible or kind. Alex was a Bad Person who

_      ruined everything he touched _

     and certainly couldn’t make John feel like he was lucky to be around him. And it hurt. It hurt so badly, because  _ John. _

     “Checking out,” he explained to Angelica as he passed the front desk.

     She nodded. “Enjoy your date.”

     “It’s not a date.”  _ I wish it was. _

     “Sure.”

     Alex hated the fact that his career was shining brightly, that his schoolwork was going great,, that everything would be perfect if he could only keep it up. And all he could think of was John, someone who would never love him because

_      you destroy everything you touch. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on Tumblr! ciceroniantrash  
> thanks always to Jessie a_mind_at_work, who is Angsty  
> Anyone ship Jamilton? I'm writing a Jamilton fic, it'll be up soon!!  
> In other news, I don't know what plot pacing is..............whoops  
> anyway, I'm starting school again tomorrow. updates may be sporadic. heavy on the "may", I've got up to chapter 15 written. Just warning you in case.


	9. Do I Run, or Do I Let it Be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a HUGE trigger warning on this chapter. Excessive drinking, referenced/considered/assumed suicide, improper use of medicine, etc....anyway, this chapter should be angst-filled (@Jessie)  
> All misspellings and formatting "errors" are deliberate, I triple checked ;)

     Federalist was a better place in the early hours of the morning and late hours of night. Two in the afternoon was the end of the lunch rush, but it was still too crowded for him to feel safe in the building.

    Maria waved at him from behind the counter and gave him a thumbs-up; there was no need to wait in line.

    John had saved him a seat, in a booth, not their normal table. “Hey. Sorry, the table was taken.”

    Alex slid into the opposite side. “‘S fine. What’s up?”

    He shrugged. “Not much. I saw the news. Cool impromptu press conference. Did you order?”

    “Maria’s gonna bring my coffee when she can. Is there something you needed, or..?”

_     John Laurens laughed.  _

    “Can I just want to see you, or are you too famous for that?”

    Alex felt heat rush to his face. “That’s not what I -”

    He reached over to Alex’s hand  _ still laughing _ , “I know. I was kidding. Seriously, Alex. Is it so hard to accept that I like spending time with you?”

    Alex’s entire body froze. There was no warmth in John’s hand, no warmth in the room. No warmth in his mind to help the chords connect, the sparks flew without direction. But his mouth was able to form the word well enough to choke it out: “Yes.”

    John stared at him for a minute not reacting whatsoever save the tinge of sadness in his eyes. “I wish you could learn to believe it,” he said quietly. “I wish you could see how wonderful you are.”

_     If you don’t stop touching me right now I’m going to - _

_     You destroy everything you touch, don’t let him touch you - _

_     - scr _ **_eam -_ **

    Alex jerked his hands back, eyes wide and heart thundering. John visibly jumped.

    “Jesus, Alex!”

    “Sorry.” He could hear the fear in his own voice. Normally he couldn’t.

    John looked at him, at his shaking hands and his presumably frightened visage. Then, softly, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, or make you uncomfortable. I’m the one that should be sorry.”

_     You ruined it. Good fucking job, Alex, you worthless piece of shit. _

    “I have to go,” he managed.

    “Alex!” John called after him, but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered any more.

    John could say whatever he wanted. He could claim that the “squad” would love him no matter what, he could speak gently, he could take Alex in his arms and rub his back and hope that nothing bad would happen. That would make it worse, because -

_     Fuck, the New York City streets - _

    Because he would be _disappointing_ them all eventually, there was no way around it; and if John yelled and screamed and never spoke to him again it would make it worse, because a world  _without John Laurens’ laugh_

    Alex had to make it to his dorm.

    There was a stash of pills he kept in his desk drawer, just in case. Beside it was a bottle of water filled with 180 proof spirits. Just in case.

    Alex didn’t drink. He’d never had a drink in his life, but the rolling clouds were in his mind, the cruel more-than-voices that were all his own, and he had to get away because

_     You destroy everything you touch _

_     You disappointed John Laurens _

_     He’ll never care for you not even once not at all not anymore you d i s a p p o i n t e d him do you hear me you _

_     will ruin everything you’ve ever worked for because your legacy is  _

_     destruction _

_     and if you destroy yourself it might be okay. _

    He wanted to die, but he also wanted to live long enough to hurt himself more.

    So he didn’t take any of them. Didn’t drink the whole bottle. Didn’t even drink enough to cause him to black out.

    But the rest of the afternoon was spent in a stupor, in a world floating in the clouds where nothing was real and nothing hurt, even when he remembered

    John,

    who hurt so badly it burned his heart in his suppressed subconsciousness. He couldn’t forget the eyes, the sad eyes, disappointed eyes, John’s eyes, when he yanked himself away all because

    John 

    Set his heart aflame

    Every part aflame

**_T h i s i s n o t a g a m e ._ **

    Somewhere between dusk and dusk, Alex barely knew who he was, and dusk dusk dusk loved him like a love song.

    Alexander Hamilton. His name was Alexander Hamilton. There were a million things he hadn’t done, and he needed to do them but he was  _ g _ **_lue_ ** **d** _ to the cH _ **air.**

    One by one, in the minutes that became lifetimes, Alex counted the things he’d destroyed.

 

  1. His mother
  2. His island
  3. His cousin
  4. Aaron Burr’s career
  5. Henry Laurens’ career
  6. John
  7. PeggyAngElizaHercLafJames
  8. PeggyAngElizaHercLafJames
  9. John
  10. Everything
  11. John 
  12. Everything
  13. Everything he touched
  14. John
  15. John



 

_     Alexander _

    It wasn’t his voice. It was screaming. He didn’t know where it was coming from. He couldn’t see, were his eyes closed?

**_ALEXANDER._ ** It was a sob this time? Were his eyes closed?

    Shakey shakey wakey wakey. Alex giggled. Shakey shakey alcohol 

S

    hakey

    One eye unglued itself.

    Shakey shwakey

    The other. John

     was  _ in front of him shaking him please wake up alexande rplease pleas _

**Alex**

**Listen** **_to me please wake up i_ **

**_Pleasep_ ** **_lease pleas e_ **

_     Never meant to  _ **_hurt you_ ** **please** **_I just wanted_ **

    -sob-

_     I care about you I just wanted to show it _

_     Alex _

 

_     John Laurens caught sight of Alexander Hamilton’s eyes, open wide in the  _

_ dusk. _

_     John Laurens stared into Alexander Hamilton’s soul and _

_     John Laurens laughed. _

_     Joyfully. _

    “Be fine,” Alex managed. “I’mma be find.”

    “No.”

    “Just drunk,,,,,,,,”

    “You took pills, Alexander.”

    Firm voice too firm.

    “No.”

    “Bottle is right there, Alex. Don’t lie to me.”

_     Don’t lie to John Laurens. _

    “Didn’t take any. Count them.”

    John counted them.

    Sixty exactly, just like the bottle said.

    “Satisfied?” he slurred. The world was different when his eyes were open. Sharper.

    John reached over to touch his face, cupped his face in his hands, let out a sob. “Come with me,” he said. Was his voice gentle or too harsh? 

    Alex couldn’t walk. Couldn’t handle his alcohol well.

    John led him to his bed.

    So dark.

    “Don’ touch,” he muttered, afraid John would set him on fire.

    John removed his hand from Alex’s back, even though it steadied him. “Please lie down.”

    The bed was  _ so nice. _

    “I’m staying with you, tonight,” John said. “And you aren’t going to school or work tomorrow.”

    Alex was too  _ drunk _ to protest.

_     So dark. _

    His headache awakened him. Alex had  _ no _ idea what had happened the previous night, but it would hit him eventually. First he had to figure out what he was leaning against, a soft/hard pillow that he didn’t recognize

**l i k e a t r a i n**

    John.

    He gasped so hard -  _ Alex what have you done - _ that John looked down at him. It was warm in his arms, so warm,  _ fire _

    “Good morning.”

    “No.”

    “I brought you breakfast.”

    “No.”

    John locked eyes with him.  _ FIRE. _ He sighed. “Please?”

    “Have to go to school. Work..”

    “I called Philip. It’s eleven in the morning, you missed your class. And you are  _ not _ going to work today.”

    “John?”

    “Alexander Hamilton. Look at me. I thought you were going to kill yourself yesterday. You weren’t answering my texts or my calls, or anyone else’s. Don’t  _ ever _ worry me like that again.”

    The waterworks began, impending for hours and hours in his sleep and before. John tightened his grip, sighing. 

    John’s fingers in his hair and John’s arms around him and John’s freckles and John’s scent and John’s breath. Alex couldn’t handle this.

    Why did he suddenly like John so much? Why was it that there was nothing else in his mind?

    Why was it that Alex felt so intensely for a person who would clearly never be his?

    Why did he 

_      destroy everything you touch _

    “Alex?”

    “I love the way you say my name,” he muttered before he could think better of it.

    John’s body went rigid. “Fuck, Alex, don’t do this to me.”

_     Fuck, Alex, don’t do this to me. _

     “What do you mean?”

    “I can’t lose you.” He sounded so small.

    Equally small, Alex replied, “Everything is so loud. In my head. Not the hangover thing. I mean -”

    “I know. It’s okay. I know that -” he took a deep breath, chest pushed against Alex’s face and 

_     hoooooly fuck _

    “I know that I can’t make it better on my own. No matter how much I want to. No matter how hard I try. I know. I was there.”

    “Sorry about your shirt,” he muttered. 

    “What?”

    “I’ve cried a large wet spot on your shirt.”

_     John Laurens laughed. _

    “Alex. I would take permanent wet spots on all of my shirts if it meant you could be mine.” He could certainly feel Alex’s heart pounding as he kissed the top of his head. “Can you promise me you’re going to get help?”

    Alex’s breath hitched.

    “Please, Alex? For me?”

_     I would do anything for you. _ “I guess.”

    “Can you tell me what happened? Yesterday?” Silence. “You can trust me.”

_     I know. I can also hurt you. _ But Alex took a deep breath, pulled far away enough from John to look him in the eyes, and let it spill anyway, everything beginning from his home in the Caribbean and how he’d been bullied and how 

    overwhelmed

    he felt in New York.

    Every burden, every disadvantage that he’d learned to manage, he talked to John about John, pretending he wasn’t the same John even though

_     set my heart aflame, every part aflame _

    and how bad he felt about  _ everything _ and all of the voices  _ all his own _ and how  _ overwhelmed _ and - 

     All of it.

    After a little while of quiet, John whispered, “Alex, I’m so fucking sorry. You don’t want my pity, I know, but….shit, Alex.”

    He barked a laugh. “Shit.”

    John hadn’t blinked. “And...why didn’t you tell me? Instead of running off?”

    “I thought it was obvious? Common sense? You don’t tell someone you have feelings for that you have feelings for them if you know they like someone that can’t possibly be you.”

    He finally closed his eyes, freckled eyelids,  _ perfect eyelids, _ stroked Alex’s cheek. _.  _ “Are you sure?”

    “I’m not wonderful.” His voice was harsher than he intended. “Not fascinating or kind or any of that.”

    But there was a disgusting piece of hope in his stomach.

_     John Laurens laughed and then he _

_ Kissed him _

_     Kissed him _

_     on the lips this time, perfect _

_     Perfect  _ **_perfect_ **

    Stunned, Alex broke away from him. “Fuck.”

    “That was  _ very  _ eloquent.”

    “John.”

    “I love the way you say my name.” The same words, it should have been mockery, but it was low, it was velvety. “Alexander. It’s always been...Henry Laurens is a dick, am I right?”

    “What?”

    “The first words I said to you. From that point on, it’s always been you. Now, please. Just...take care of yourself, okay, Alex? Starting with breakfast. Brunch, now.”

    The voices - voice,  _ his voice _ \- was strong in his head, ruin/disgusting/destroy/worthless, but Alex reached up and rubbed his throbbing temples. “Fucking hangovers. This is why I don’t drink. Jesus.”

    John took Alex’s hands from his head and used the momentum to hoist him up. The motion made his head

_     scream. _

    “You weren’t going to get up any other way.”

    “That’s not fair,” he whined.

    “ _ You’re _ not fair. Get your perfect ass over here.”

**_PERFECT._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Alex. All of that weird formatting in his head.  
> Spot all the hidden Ham lyrics and I'll...idk...join u in the fun Hamilton screeching? Anyway it's a scavenger hunt go  
> Next update soon enough!  
> Yell at me on tumblr about the gay founding fathers - ciceroniantrash


	10. Talk Less, Smile More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to apologize in advance...

    Alex was spending a quiet Thursday evening alone at the Columbia library, in preparation for a polisci debate that would be happening on Monday. He’d shot the group chat a notification that he’d have his phone off, in order not to upset or startle anyone -  _ cough John Laurens cough -  _  into barging in on his study session again.

    The corner was small and cozy, a little area where Alex felt comfortable, safe, in between ventures outward. Just like he had a spot at Federalist, he had one in the library, too. 

    Mr. Schuyler hadn’t been upset with him for not showing up to work, which was a relief, but he had bombarded Alex with emails nonetheless. Not like there wasn’t reason to - he was meeting with  _ George Washington,  _ at that point  _ two days _ away. Something inside of him was definitely freaking out at the prospect, but there was a  _ debate _ he needed to prepare for. That same Something told him George Washington might not appreciate that a cheap political debate at a college (even if it was Columbia) took precedence over securing questions for him, but something else said that he  _ absolutely _ would appreciate that, what was the first part talking about?

    Washington had a good sense of humor, at least on the phone, and Schuyler spoke highly of him. Praise was not something that came easily to the man, but when he gave, he gave it from himself wholly. It was Alex’s main hope for this portion of his career to merit true and honest and wonderful lauds from Philip Schuyler, not for his persona or interaction or boldness, but for his painstaking writing and attention to detail and structures.

    The true aim of his work, in school and in life, of course, was to prove not only to the world but to himself that there was reason for those caretakers back on St. Croix to pay attention to him. For them to pitch in every penny, every peculiarity that could produce pension, to place him on that precious pilgrimage. He wasn’t worth anything back then, but they seemed to think so .Perhaps he could become something now.

    Every story that had ever been written was about a person with a mission. And the person writing it also had a mission. Alex was both, he felt both, he was a writer writing about revolution, he was a character in the great verse of Whitman’s.

    If he was gone, would someone remember his name? Keep his flame? Tell his story?

    He was all he had.

    Sometimes he wanted to kill himself. A lot of the time, actually, he wanted to kill himself. But if he did so, if a bullet ended his life propelled by his own fingertips, that bullet would be his legacy.

**Legacy. What is a legacy?**

**It’s planting seeds in a garden you don’t get to see.**

    That line would have to make it into his debate somehow. He had to use it. Somehow.

     Somehow, somehow. Someday. That was the motto of his life. Somehow, Someday, he’d have to blow the world away. That was the only way to prove himself, to make the struggle worthwhile. To make the time and energy and  _ cost and all that they’d lost  _ worthwhile That was the only way to convince himself he wasn’t worthless. That was the only way he could protect his legacy.

      **legacy**

    “Alexander.”

    The glass box encasing him shattered. He was just Alex, again.

     “Well, if it isn't Aaron Burr, sir.”

    “Did you hear the news about good old Professor Mercer?”

    This made Alex pause, look up from his computer screen. “No.”

    “You know Clermont’s room?”

    “Yeah.”

    “They moved him over there, I hear his tenure is secure.”

    “Sure.”

    “All he had to do was apply.”

    He scoffed. “Yeah, that’ll always work.”

    Burr laughed, taking the seat across from him. “We ought to give it a try.” Alex snorted. “Are you gonna get your immigration point through?”

    “Yeah, I guess I’m gonna finally have to listen to you.”

    “Really?” He seemed interested, genuinely, which was strange for Aaron.

    “Talk less. Smile more. Take advantage of the opponent’s unavoidable disaster I’ve been waiting for.”

    “Some people in our class are merciless.”

    “Well, hate the sin, love the sinner.”

    “Fair enough, I suppose...”

    “Sorry, Burr, I gotta win. My grade’s margin of safety is getting thinner.”

    “Hamilton, this banter is getting out of control. We’ve been rhyming. Did you notice?”

    “Aaron, back in the Caribbean, we called that -” he leaned in close and lowered his voice “- chemistry.”

    Burr’s dark and stormy mask seemed to lighten a little bit, but he was  _ difficult _ to read. Alex would have to practice. “Chemistry?”

    Alex shrugged, hoping his toothy grin was less on the side of creepy than it often was. “ _ You’re  _  the one that said “banter.” Banter generally denotes a style of snappy speech between two people who are attracted to each other.”

    Burr, keeping eye contact with Alex, reached into his bag and pulled out a calculus textbook and a calculator. “Have you met my girlfriend, Alexander?”

    “I didn’t know your girlfriend’s name was Alexander. What a coincidence.”

_     That  _ got a laugh out of him. Alex measured his laugh; it was all wrong. Aaron’s laugh didn’t slow down time. It wasn’t anywhere close to John’s.

    Alex gave up. “What’s her name?”

    He’d been trying so hard to rid himself of his attraction for John. It could steal the legitimacy from what he’d done to Henry Laurens, but more importantly, it could steal the legitimacy from his new friendgroup. He felt attracted to so many of them - Angelica, whose mind was clearly at work, witty and sharp; Eliza, with her kind eyes and soft presence. But John stole the light from all the gods themselves. There was nobody he would rather spend his time with, nobody he’d prefer speaking to. John was stunningly attractive, perfectly imperfect, dotted with dark galaxies, intelligent and perceptive, personable, kind, everything Alex could name and more. 

    John had  _ heavily  _ implied - okay, no, that’s a lie, he’d flat out  _ stated _ \- that Alex was the person he’d had a crush on from the beginning. That was hard for him to believe, and it was even harder to act upon the consequence of this. Alex had always been reliable with the ladies - something about his dark circles and sleep deprivation seemed to turn them on - but he’d never actually  _ dated _ any of them. And John Laurens was like exactly none of them, even putting aside the fact he was male. There was nobody in the entire world he had fallen in love with so quickly or so fully as John Laurens.

    Alex, to put off that fact, to try and ignore it until it went away, if it went away, proceeded to flirt with anything that moved. And that included Aaron Burr.

    There was a realness about Aaron that he couldn’t deny being attracted to. Sometimes Alex felt as if his head was in the clouds, as if his constant pursuit of doing anything and everything was leading him to surrealism. Aaron was the perfect antithesis. He was cool, collected, elegant. Practical. Handsome, surely he knew it. Poker-face strong as iron. Intelligent as ever-living  _ fuck _ , ambitious in his quiet way, friendly, caring. When Aaron walked into a room, you knew it. Lovely lips that Alex wouldn’t be opposed to kissing. But he was no John Laurens.

    The way his eyes moved under his irises when she said her name certainly was something, though. “Theodosia. I call her Doe, because she’s ethereal in that way, but most people call her Theo. She’s engaged, but -”

    “Oh shit. She’s  _ engaged _ ? Burr, what the fuck?”

    He chuckled. “But she and I both know that it’s us who are meant to be. Theirs was an arranged marriage. She promised me she’d leave him. I love her more than anything in this world, and in the next.” Aaron flipped through the book until he got to a page about non-standard analysis. Then his voice got smokey. “Have you ever met anyone, Alexander, like that? Who completely steals your affections without your consent? Eyes with such  _ gravitas _ that seem to hold the entire world within them? Alexander?”

    “Yes.” That much was true, but he couldn’t resist making the joke. “You.”

    Aaron slow-blinked at him calmly.

    “I was kidding, Aaron.”

    “I know. But really, have you? You haven’t lived unless you have.”

    “I wasn’t kidding with my  _ yes _ .”

    “Good. I won’t pry.”

    “You know, Aaron? I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you speak.”

    “You’re the one that claims we have chemistry.”

    “Alright, alright. Fair. Did you need something else?”

    He shrugged. “I’m not a man of small talk. But I do have one question: why did you put everything on the line to piss off Henry Laurens?”

    “He looked at me like I was stupid. I’m not stupid.”

    Aaron chuckled. “I know that, Alexander. Knowledge oozes from your pores. You amaze and astonish me every time we speak. Though it is stupid to overwork yourself like this -”

    “ _ I am not throwing away my shot, Aaron.” _

    “And I hear you’re meeting George Washington tomorrow?”

    “Burr. That’s not exactly  _ small talk _ .”

    “I warned you.”

    Alex allowed himself to breathe. With Aaron, whose intellect was as sharp as his his teeth were white, it was never a question of whether you  _ had _ an answer or not. You had to keep up with him, and the question was  _ whether you survived or died of asphyxiation. _

    “I am indeed.”

    “What are you to discuss? Or are you allowed to say?”

    “Aaron, not everyone can have your hushed mouth. I will tell you if I damn please. And I do damn please, so buckle the fuck up.”

    He made a motion that suggested he was buckling a seat belt.

    “But you have to swear secrecy.”

    “Alexander, please,” he replied, rolling his eyes.

    “Washington is asking me to be on his campaign team.”

    Burr’s face seemed to light up like a Christmas tree. “That’s wonderful, Alexander!”

    “Why do you call me that?” he interrupted. “I’m sorry, it’s entirely off topic, but you only call me Alexander. I generally go by Alex.”

    “I like the name.”

    Alex put a hand to his chest, mouth open in mock gasp. “Are  _ you _ , Aaron Burr, flirting with  _ me?  _ That’s  _ my _ job!”

    Burr laughed. “Whatever strikes your fancy, Tomcat. If you prefer Alex, I wouldn’t mind changing. It would be selfish and stupid of me to put my own enamorment with the name Alexander over your comfort and happiness.”

    “Alexander is fine, if you like it. I don’t have an aversion or anything. It’s just not what I’m used to.”

    Burr had been working on math problems the entire time, Alex only noticed then. His handwriting was atrocious - Alex supposed that it was for the same reason his was: their minds just worked too quickly to have good handwriting. “Feel free to change your mind any time,” he said as he closed the textbook and slipped it back into his bag. “I have no further need for occupying your time or space at this table, if you’d excuse what I’ve already taken.”

    “Aaron, feel free to take my time and space any day of the week.” Before Burr could move his hand entirely from the table to pick his bag up, Alex caught a hold of it and kissed his knuckles. “Entirely joking.”

    Aaron took a few seconds just to stare at him, and then at their entwined hands. The darkness was back, shielding his face, but he chuckled lowly as he left. “You’re a piece of work, Alexander Hamilton.”

    Alex knew Burr didn’t feel any attraction towards him. Alex also knew that he didn’t feel the same type of attraction for Aaron as he did for John. But he suspected there was a running joke in that scene somewhere, and he was glad he’d made a friend who he could bring that side out of, and from whom it could be reciprocated. 

    A minute later, he’d entirely forgotten about Burr, when a man with a Joker-dark grin and expensive clothes slid into the seat next to him.

    “So. Aaron Burr, huh? Better not let John Laurens know. Better not let the press know, famous man.”

    Alex’s eyes snapped fully open, his exhaustion seeping entirely from his body, replaced with renewed fervor. “Who are you?”

    “The name is James Reynolds. Your little friend Maria’s brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOOH CLIFFHANGER AHAHAHAH  
> and uh...shipping Hamburr...............i can't help it.....  
> my tumblr is ciceroniantrash! I don't bite :)  
> Updates may become weekly; I've started school and it's a little hectic, my apologies! I'll do my best.  
> I love all of you! -B


	11. In the [Coffee House] Stressin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lil extra warning for homophobic speech, which I've attempted to make mild, but homophobia is homophobia. If you're sensitive to that, miss the James Reynolds flashback in italics at the very beginning. Stay safe <3

     Alex was doing his absolute best to shake James Reynolds out of his hair.

_      “Listen, James, Burr and I are friends. We can joke with each other because we are f r i e n d s. We can pretend because we are friends. I don’t love, I don’t have a crush on, I don’t desire, or whatever shit you can come up with, Aaron Burr.” _

_      “I can destroy your reputation, you know that?” James interjected, seeming to ignore him. _

_      Alex’s breath caught in his throat as James held up his phone, swiping through numerous pictures of the two sitting together, winking, and kissing each other’s hands. “I don’t know why you would. What have I ever done to you?” _

_      James reached over and slammed Alex’s laptop down. He managed to get his fingers away just in time. “You’re Maria’s friend. That’s enough, that hopeless sinning lesbian. But you also took a bite of Henry.” _

_      “You don’t like her, I see.” He chose to leave the part about Senator Laurens where it was, because John hurt to think about. _

_      “Hm. Well. That’s a simplification, but I guess it’s a way of putting it.” _

_      “John will believe me over you any day.”  _ So much for the not thinking about John thing.

_      “John Laurens can’t destroy your life. President George King and his media outlets can.” _

_      His heart sank. “You work for him, then.” _

_      James shrugged. “The White House pays well. But in general, I work for conservative media. Real media. And can I tell you? You’re such a piece of shit?.” _

_      “Look, I couldn’t care less about offending you-” _

_      “But I could, literally, ruin you. So you’re  _ going _ to listen. You work for Philip Schuyler. Yeah?” _

_      Alex nodded. _

_      “You pay me. One hundred dollars every two weeks until election season’s over. Completely. In different amounts, so nobody can tell. Hey, I’ll let ya keep seeing John Laurens. And aside from me...nobody needs to know.” _

     Okay, so Alex was doing his absolute best to shake James Reynolds out of his hair, but it wasn’t working. It wasn’t working and Alex needed it to  _ start _ working, because George Washington was entering Federalist Soup.

     He had this gravity to him, a way of making people around him turn to stare. They respected him, his ramrod straight back, his kind eyes and soft smile. When he spoke it was more intense, a gentle and firm voice commanding those around him to listen and look and care. Alex raised his hand to wave him over, but Washington had already spotted him.

     “Mr. Hamilton.”

     “Mr. Washington, good afternoon.”

     “Do you mind if I join you?” Of course it was just a formality, but Washington stood at the table’s edge until Alex nodded and gestured towards the opposing seat.

_      You pay me. _

     “I did ask you to meet me inside, but I assumed I would be the early one,” Washington said as he pulled back the chair. “Please. Call me George.”

     “You were walking in and I thought, oh boy, here comes the general, I’d better rise.”

     George’s laugh was velvety. “How have you been of late, Hamilton?”

     Alex preferred to drop the niceties, but it  _ was  _ George Washington. “Alex, please.”

     He leaned forward, fingers steepled. “I‘m sure you think I’m being unnecessarily polite, Alex. But I am genuinely interested. Seriously, how have you been of late? New journalists can take quite a while to acclimate.”

     Alex bit back a surprised  _ oh _ at his comment and replied, “I’ve been well. And you?”

     George shrugged. “Well, I suppose. I’ve secured the democratic nomination. Laurens is dispatched. Philip has been kind to myself and to Mr. von Steuben-”

     “Excessively.”

     “- in affairs pertaining to you and your possible employment.”

_      Ah, yes. My possible employment. _

**One hundred dollars.**

     “Alex, have you made a decision? It’s alright if you haven’t, but I’d like to know your general train of thought in that matter.”

     Alex took a deep breath. His mind flew with possible answers, yesses and nos of all sorts, all kinds of maybes and all kinds of screams. He was cut off by a teenager, possibly just a little younger than him or possibly quite a lot younger than him. 

     “General Washington,” she said nervously, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Could I possibly have a picture?”

     George grinned widely and shook her hand. “Of course. What’s your name, miss?”

     “Dolley Payne.”

     “Miss Payne, I would be honored to take a picture with you. Would you mind if Alex takes it?”

     Dolley flushed. “Alexander Hamilton. I - could I have a picture with you, too?”

     Alex beamed. It was strange to know that others knew who he was, that he had reached a pseudo-celebrity level. “Absolutely.”

     Dolley Payne was quick, seeming shy, but as she left, she added with a truly, genuinely loving sparkle in her eyes, “I’m voting Washington, by the way. And Mr. Hamilton, if you ever run...I’d vote for you, too.”

     Alex shared a short and appreciative chuckle with George after she’d gone. 

     “What a kind girl.”

     “You’d be surprised how many people like that I meet on the campaign trail,” George admitted.

**_You pay me._ **

     Alex‘s breath caught in his throat; he disguised it as a cough. “I’m sure.”

     “So, Alexander?” The way he said it reminded him just a little of Burr.

_      Aaron Burr? _

_      You pay me. _

     “So,” he breathed, “I’ve decided that when Mr. Schuyler says that I may leave, and if the Revolutionary Initiative is okay with it, I would love to join your campaign.”

     George raised his hands in celebration, but it only looked endearingly odd, like an awkward dad cheering his son on from behind his date. “Wonderful! I’ve worked out most of the details with Philip and the Initiative, already - I had a feeling you might accept.”

     Alex was relieved - that was less stressful than he’d imagined. “Consider me on your side.”

     “It sure is nice to have Hamilton on my side.”

     The most powerful figure in the Democratic party, admiring  _ Alexander Hamilton _ . Surreal. “I can say the same for you, Mr. Washington.”

     George Washington chuckled. “Every person matters, Alex. Every moment matters, on the campaign trail.”

     “This is not a moment. It’s a movement.”

     “Is that how you see things?”

     It was. A moment was the split second before the hurricane hit. A moment was the last time his mother smiled at him. A moment was his first view of America, standing on the bow of the ship and breathing in the taste of salty air and freedom and this whole new world, it was the exactness of his footfalls on the floor of the Schuyler building before his first job. It was Eliza’s sweet smile across a cool room. It was the breath he took before exposing Laurens. It was John’s kisses. This - Washington’s campaign, the election season, all of it - was most  _ certainly  _ a movement.

     Philip Schuyler had made Alex a part of the Revolutionary Initiative. George Washington had made Alex a part of a real political revolution.

     “Every moment is part of a movement.”

     “I suppose that’s true. I have a few questions, Alex, would you mind if I asked?”

     He shrugged. “Shoot, sir.”

     “Well.” He pulled a notepad and pen out of his briefcase. “I’ll begin, I guess, with something that you’re surely thinking I’ll ask about. It’s what’s on all of our minds this week, the reason I rushed my visit to New York. Did you just randomly decide to destroy Henry Laurens? Was there motivation?”

     Alex laughed internally and pursed his lips.  _ Of course he would ask.  _ “I can tell you what I’ve told the press already, I guess - I felt that John was being unfairly treated. And I wouldn’t trust someone like that in the position of presidency. That’s blackmail material, you know? I mean, aside from it just being  _ wrong  _ and awful.”

**blackmail material**

     “That’s all?” He sounded disappointed to be getting only this, but unsurprised.

     Alex hesitated. How much was he allowed to say? And by allowed, he meant how much was it wise to say? How much could he trust George? He seemed like a father figure, and that’s what made him so popular with voters - he was keenly kind and unsuspiciously sincere. “John Laurens means a lot to me,” he settled on. “And I wouldn’t feel good if I didn’t use my position to help my friends and enlighten the American people.”

     George nodded slowly, writing a short note on his paper. “A value I appreciate in my team. I don’t stand for the unfaithful and dishonest. I’ll move on, then - I’m sure you’re tired of answering questions on the subject.”

_      John. _

     “What do you describe as your most positive attribute?”

     Alex had a hard time with that one, but he settled on his work ethic. 

     “I can most definitely see that. What do you like to do, outside of work and school?”

     And so they went for a few more hours, stopping questions to chat about idle things that mattered or didn’t, jotting notes and names and numbers down every once in a while and eventually ordering from Maria. George got soup. Alex got coffee.

     Once George had asked all the questions he offered his phone number. “Text me if you need anything. We will be in contact over email as well, I presume.”

     When Alex went to put it in his phone after George had gone, he noticed that John had been texting him frequently.

 

**John:** Good luck with gwash! Tell me abt it when u get back [kiss emoji]

**John:** how did he get my phone nunmber holy shit

**John:** alex

**John:** i cnat breath

**John:** no it’s okay I’m okay

**John:** my father texted me and 

**John:** jesus christ he’s just so fucking awful

**John:** whenever u get these text me back 

**Alex:** Are you sure you’re okay? I can come over

 

     He didn’t dare to inhale until he got the reply.

 

**John:** I’m at Laf’s and I’m okay

**Alex:** I’ll be over in a little bit. I’ve got some work to finish up.

**John:** Okay. 

 

     Alex felt  _ terrible _ for leaving John alone like that. If something had happened to him, it would be his fault. 

_      You shouldn’t be trusted with people. _

_      You destroy everything you touch. _

     He took a sip of his coffee.

**_You pay me._ **

**_Aaron Burr._ **

_      A cold wave - _

     “Alex?”

     He jumped, opened his eyes, slightly twitching. “Sorry.”

     The face across from his wasn’t Aaron’s. It wasn’t James’ or John’s. He felt himself break into a grin. “Eliza. Surprise to see you here.”

     The middle Schuyler shrugged. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything? I didn’t see Washington…”

     “He just left.”

     “How’d it go?”

     Alex couldn’t suppress his relieved laughter. “Great. It went really, really well.”

     Eliza pushed her hair back behind her hear. “That’s good.”

     “Caramel mach with caramel in the cup, heya.” Maria slid the cup across the table from behind Alex. It was only then that he noted how closely her voice resembled James’. “Alex, you’ve been here for like four straight hours. Take a fuckin’ break.”

     “No thanks, Ria. I’ve got so much on my plate.”

     “Whatever.” She winked at Eliza before sauntering off.

     Eliza blushed into her cup, which made Alex narrow his eyes. “Am I missing something?”

     She sighed, eyes still fixed on Maria. “I liked you, you know.”

     He was taken aback, but of course he’d picked up on it. And being around her made him feel...good. Not the same way John did, but good. “Uh, okay?”

     “But when I look at her, Alex...I’m helpless.”

     Alex fought the urge to squeal. “Ask her out, oh my god! Liza!”

     Eliza toyed with a strand of her hair. “I don’t think she likes me, though. Alex. I’m so…female.”

     “Are you kidding me? Liza, Ria’s the gayest lesbian I know.”  _ And that James knows - “ _ Ask her out! Please! Seriously. I can read Ria like a book. She likes you, even if she doesn’t know it yet.”

     “Really?” 

     Eliza seemed so shy, almost fragile. Scared. Alex leaned forward to whisper, “Eliza. She’d be lucky to have you.”

     A tentative smile from behind a curtain of dark hair. “I’ll ask her.”

     Alex fought the urge to scream, he couldn’t wait to see the two of them together.

     But there was something about James and Maria, Maria and James, that made Alex worried. If Maria and Eliza started dating, would something happen to Eliza?

     He couldn’t let anything happen to Eliza.

     When Alex watched her watch Maria, making coffee hurriedly behind the bar, with a hint of a smile playing her lips and a gentle longing tinting her eyes, he knew that if James came to him, he would pay his entire salary to protect Eliza.

**You pay me.**

**You pay me.**

**You pay me.**

_      A cold wave, it flooded into the coffee shop, slowly rising, gushing upwards, Eliza was submerged, and Alex couldn’t breathe, and the slice of marble cake Maria was handing the man at the counter got soggy, and who likes soggy cake? _

     Then it was gone.

     Alex knew he was in for a rough

**you pay me**

     night, thoughts of James splattering across his conscious and subconscious, Eliza’s pretty eyes batting pretty eyelashes blushing prettily at Maria’s smoky demeanor, 

 

_ B U Z Z  _

**Pop.**

     went the round fishbowl bubble. Eliza glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. Alex couldn’t connect the vibration with the object for a few seconds, but eventually realized -

     “Alex, your phone?”

 

**John:** hey hey hey

**John:** lmao sorry if I’m bothering you

**John:** I m iss you

**John:** finish soon <3

 

     “John?” Eliza asked, sipping her coffee. “We should get going, then.”

     “Was it that obvious?”

 

**Alex:** We’re on our way. :)

 

     “Alex, you’re grinning like you anonymously received a million dollars. There’s only one person in the world who makes you smile like that.”  
He felt his cheeks flush.

**a cold wave, it flooded -**

     Alex shook his head in slow motion.

_      Please desert me. _

     “Let’s go, then? Only after you ask Maria out, though.” Get the voices away with a wink, a nudge, a teasing singsong. 

     It was Eliza’s turn to hide her face, smiling into her hands. “Oh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title: The Plot Thickens, The Plot Gayens  
> Updates will most likely be Saturdays from now on! Unless something comes up - then they will be Sundays, but always weekends. It's just a "level of academia" thing lmao
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr: ciceroniantrash


	12. AND Peggy

    Eliza had looked back at him as Maria tossed her head back in laughter and gave him an excited thumbs up, and Alex was happy for her. But he couldn’t express it as well as he wanted -- she headed over to Laf’s that night, and Alex, unfortunately, couldn’t make it.

    He had so much work to do.

    Friday evening he finished all of the assignments he had left that he’d been assigned - but there were always more to come -- and he began the introduction of his piece for The Stance, though nothing of enough note happened since the pieces for the previous week were due, which was Thursday. As much as Alex wanted to start writing his column and not stop, he, unfortunately, could not predict the future.

    It was four in the morning when Alex was finally satisfied enough to go to sleep, so he packed his things and headed back to his apartment. The librarian had fallen asleep at his desk, his face in a book.

    When he woke Saturday morning, he texted John:

 

 **Alex:** Would you like to go get breakfast somewhere?

 **John:** We’re all at Laf’s having breakfast. You missed movie night :(

 

_They’re probably having a great time without you. The best time._

_You destroy everything you touch._

    Alex took a deep breath, _suck it up,_

 

 **Alex:** Sorry. Have fun.

 **John:** If you want to come over, you still can!

 

    He hesitated. What to say to that? He wanted to go over. These were his friends, after all, he loved them more than anything in this life. But Alex didn’t know if he was really _their_ friend.

_Who are you trying to fool, Alex, they don’t like you. Leave them the fuck alone._

 

 **Alex:** I don’t know. Don’t want to intrude.

 

_Stupid, stupid, stupid. Now it looks like you want attention._

_God fucking damn, can’t you do anything right? Send a fucking text message without making it all about you and your ~pitiful~ self, but really you’re a piece of shit attention whore._

 

 **John:** You wouldn’t be!!!!!

 **John:** please come :””(((

 **John:** we miss you!

 

 _He’s lying to you because you_ fucking _pressured him, dumbass._

 

 **Alex:** Sorry.

 

    John began typing, but the bubble disappeared after a second. Alex’s breath caught in his throat because there was nothing more nerve-wracking than that, and it meant that John probably hated him and thought he was stupid, and

 

 **John:** is everything okay?

 

_Burr and James, what are you trying to hide, Alex? Floating around viciously, quiet, quiet, Eliza seems so sad. John hates you. You didn’t even go see him, didn’t even check on him after yesterday, you are a horrible human being unworthy of love, probably not even human because you’re a fucking monster._

 

 **Alex:** I should be asking that of you.

 

    Bubble. No bubble. Bubble. No bubble. Bubble.

 

 **John:** can u meet me at Denny’s

 **Alex:** don’t leave them if u domt watn to

 

    He was crying. Alex had just woken up, and he was crying --

 _You’re such a bad person. You’re terrible. You destroye everything and everyone and you fuckign piece of_ **_sh it_ **

**_I hate you_ **

**_I want you to die_ **

 

 **John:** Alex

 **John:** what tha heck I gotta do to be with u

 **John:** Please? Denny’s, or come over?????

 **John:** Ang and Liza and Peg and Laf and Herc and I miss u [kiss emoji]

 **Alex:** Don’t lie to me

 **John:** :( I’m not ):

 

_Every day gets worse with him because you want to make him happy but you can’t because you’re so terrible_

 

 _The phone rang_ **_Bring bring bring brrrrirng,,,,_ **

**_Through a fish tank, Alex swiped right_ **

**_“Hi.”_ **

**_“Alex?”_ **

    John sounded so concerned, _why did you worry him_

    “Don’t worry about me. Have fun. You deserve a break. I have a lot of work to do.” Total lie.

    He got called on it, curses and praises to people who knew how to call Alex out on his shit.

    “That’s fucking bull, Alex. You spent yesterday in the library, wake up at 9 am and who knows when you went to bed, and you sound exhausted.”

    “John, please,” Alex sighed heavily.

    “-- no, it’s Alex.” His voice was muffled, through a hand over the phone.

    “AAAAAAHHH, MON AMI, WE MISS YOU!”

    A muffled collective scream. “HEY ALEX!”

_See what a good time they’re having without you?_

_Worthless._

    “Hey, guys.” The heaviness was there, he didn’t know how to help it, he didn’t know how to make it stop, because it would just worry them more, but his tongue had a hard time moving and it was just too fucking _difficult_ to form words with the air in his lungs because he didn’t have the energy to take in any _more._

    “Come over, mon ami!!!!”

 _No thanks, I’ll just ruin your day like I ruin everything else I’ve ever done._ “If you insist.”

    “Please?” begged Peggy’s voice.

    Angelica’s, “Alexander…” was just a whisper in the background.

    “We insist,” said John seriously.

    “Fine. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Fuckin’ _hell_ yeah!” yelled Peggy.

    “See you in a little,” John murmured. Alex could hear the sad smile in his voice, and he replied with one of his own, knowing well that he couldn’t be seen, and hung up.

    The day was hazy, cool for this time of the year, when Alex went outside he could feel the thin rain in his hair. He stopped by Federalist on the way, tipped Ria “pretty,” and got himself a large coffee, because with all that not sleeping he’d done the previous night, and all the courage he would require to summon himself into the presence of his friends, he needed caffeine. Well, it had been about four hours of sleep...he hadn’t slept for that long in a while, but the general lack of it was starting to catch up and mess with him.

    A lady in Laf’s apartment complex stared at him as he passed, and only then did Alex realize that he was still wearing his pajamas.

_Fuck it. You might as well look like the damn disaster you actually are._

    His knock was weak, but it didn’t matter; it seemed like they’d been waiting for even the gentlest of noises indicative of Alex’s presence, because immediately John threw the door open.

    “Y’all scare the shit out of me when you do that, you know.” Alex glanced up at him, taking a sip of his coffee.

    John grinned at him, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “That’s the point.”

    “Mon ami!”

    “We missed you,” said Angelica, sitting on the couch massaging Peggy’s feet.

    “I had a lot to do. Sorry you guys.” He took another sweep of all of his friends, realizing there was someone missing. “Where’s Eliza?”

    “Liza ran off super early in the morning. Not sure why, but she texted saying that she was alright. Turn your group message notifications on, man. We’ve been texting you non-stop,” called Hercules, who was _still_ flipping pancakes, even though it was later than “breakfast” time.

    “You didn’t have breakfast yet?” Alex ignored the demand. “You didn’t have to wait for me.”

_I hope I didn’t inconvenience them too much._

_Who are you fucking shitting, Hamilton, you inconvenience everyone._

    “We decided on a round two,” Peggy practically moaned through the massage. “Perpetually hungry.”

    “What movie did you guys watch?”

    “Finding Nemo. Peg’s favorite. Alex, please do take some pancakes, they’re still nice and hot.”

    “It was, how you say, lit,” Laf said through a bite of fruit on the bar stool. Angelica and Peggy joined him after a second of seemingly heated sisterly eye argument.

    “I’ll bet.”

    “You should come next time. You know. Take a break and all of that.” John slung an arm around him and nuzzled his nose in Alex’s neck.

    “You guys need to stop telling me that.”

_Fuck, Hamilton, if your voice gets any darker they’re really going to start to think something’s wrong with you._

    “You need to stop overworking yourself,” whispered John after a short neck-kiss. “We love you, Alex, and I wish you’d start believing that.”

    John’s scent, the lemons and shampoo and soap, was so overwhelming that it made Alex entirely breathless, too helpless to do anything but sigh. _He’s lying to you._

_Let me believe in something nice for once._

_Not if it’s untrue._

_Give me a minute’s peace._

    Alex grabbed a pancake off of the top of the stack, steaming hot, fluffy and scented like sweet vanilla and butter, and didn’t bother with a plate. John didn’t move from him until they sat on the couch, and even then the only move he made was to move closer.

    The others were just far away enough to not hear their whispers.

    “I’m having an embarrassingly hard time managing a day without you.” John had the remnants of sleep in his voice when he spoke lowly. Alex had a hard time not blushing at his raspy murmurs.

    He could still barely breathe. “Same, honestly. I. Um. I wrote you a letter.”

    It was twelve-thirty in the morning. Alex sat alone in the library, except for that true angel of a librarian, dim lights, on the opposite side of the room and one floor elevated from his favorite corner because even though Aaron Burr wasn’t around, he couldn’t think about James Reynolds.

    Reporters had this funny way of making nothing into something. Alex knew. He was one. And what was scary about James was that he had the ability to do _more._

    A spider, weaving its web, you pull one string and the rest _know._

    But Alex was tired, and all he could think about was John.

    He began to make a list, then, all the things that made it so Alex couldn’t stop thinking about him, he made the list just to get them out, like dumping all your plans in an agenda so they don’t weigh on you:

 

**Number One:**

    John’s a guy whose roots are what made him rich, but he’s not his father’s son, he didn’t have to social climb, for one. He’s kind and witty and he stays out of the insidious gossip of New York City. He is beautiful in his quietness.

**Number Two:**

    If he does actually care for me, it’s not because I have a Great Name™, or because I might in the future. He gets prestige from his family but I don’t give him a social boost. He’s so not a gold digger. It’s kind of refreshing, not that I’d know much about being _dug_ , but I do, unfortunately, see a lot of it.

**Number Three:**

    I’ve only known him for a while but he’s not hard to read and he’s not secretive. I feel like I know him like I know my own mind. I will never be able to find someone like him again.

    Alex went on to talk about his hair and his lips and his freckles, his eyes, his touch, his scent -- which he’d spent an embarrassing “new kind of stupid” amount of time trying to decipher -- and the way he cared for everyone around him.

    It was one in the morning when he got the most sentimental, talking about how John looked at _him_ specifically, and how he loved the way John made him feel beautiful and worth something. The way his body processed motion and life more slowly when

_John Laurens laughed._

    Alex had stopped then, because he knew he had to get back to working. But he’d decided to finish it off with a signature and give it to John the next time they met.

    Knowing its contents made it hard to hand over, but he did it. The way John smiled at him made it worth it.

    “I’ll read it later, is that alright?”

    He managed a nod and then swallowed. “I feel really bad for not personally checking in about your dad two days ago. Are you really okay?”

    John’s eyes darkened. He could tell that they were slightly puffy, still, which made him feel all the worse.

    “I kind of...well.” His voice cracked and he closed his eyes; when he opened them again, Alex was startled with the hopelessness he saw within them. “I was four years clean, Alex. But I’m okay, now.”

_It’s all your fault._

    “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

_Great fucking job, Hamilton, the best thing you can do now is stop breathing. Altogether._

_You piece of shit._

_You destroy everything you touch, and I cannot believe I allowed you to destroy John Laurens. Why’d you have to destroy the one good thing in your world? Why?_

    John smiled and shifted so he was the one supporting Alex and his now-cold pancake. “No worries. Today will surely be kinder to me.” But the tinged sadness in his voice wasn’t something Alex could avoid hearing. “Tomorrow is always an opportunity.”

    “I wish I could be as positive as you.”

    “I’m not going to lie, it took all my energy and a hell of a lot of time to work on. But it’s worth it.” He rubbed Alex’s back in small circles. “And I’m always here for you.”

    Alex had tried to dry his tears and keep his eyes normal looking on the way over, but he felt the waterworks beginning to flow again. It made him furious, but he was so warm and so comfortable --

    “Y’all, I didn’t ask for Alex to come over so that I could watch your gay fluff shit happen in front of me.” Peggy rolled her eyes.

    Alex wiggled his way out of John’s arms, hating the new cold but relieved to disconnect from John because he didn’t deserve someone so wonderful. “Sorry, Peg.”

    “Peggy is, how you say, _jealous_ , because everyone in the room is in a relationship except for her,” teased Lafayette.

    Peggy shoved an entire pancake into her mouth. “Bitch.”

    Alex still didn’t know if he and John were in a real relationship or not. They’d not talked about it whatsoever, and Alex didn’t feel comfortable saying that they were dating if John didn’t. And what if John was just an affectionate friend? He seemed like the type. What if he didn’t want anything to do with Alex? Hell, _Alex_ didn’t want anything to do with Alex.

    But he hoped this letter made his feelings clear - he’d written a little bit more before falling asleep, a couple of blurbs meant to go pre- and post- list, explaining in detail exactly how he felt. But would it be enough, or would it

_destroy_

    his chances? He didn’t want to throw away his shot with John...

    Alex decided to put it aside as the others began to talk without real motive, about classes and about their friends, and the world seemed to lighten from under its clouds just a little bit.

    His morning had started absolutely awfully, but now that it was almost eleven thirty…

    His phone made a death metal screech, which was its tone for James Reynolds.

    He’d given the horrible man a nickname instead of his real one - James was Madison’s name and he didn’t want to taint it; and besides, Reynolds deserved it.

 

 **Dickwad:** Don’t forget. [1 image attached]

 

    But today, he would be alright, or at least it seemed so. John was beside him, Angelica twirled around Hercules in the kitchen, Peggy was still working through her mouthful of pancake, and Hercules was singing into his spatula.

    Alex had gotten into some shit. But he was at home, and they made him feel warm inside. He turned his group notifications on just as Eliza texted the group:

 

 **Eliza:** You guys want to go out tonight?

 **Eliza:** the rink is opennnnnnn

 **Eliza:** And I have a surprise for Ang??? It’s coming to the rink too~ ;)

 

    “Hell yeah, fucking ice skating,” Peggy howled through half-chewed fluff-cake.

    Eliza’s message, separate from the group chat, came to him:

 

 **Eliza:** (the surprise: Thomas Jefferson’s coming home!!! Don’t tell~)

 **Alex:** I won’t!

 

    “I’ve never been ice skating,” he admitted, eyes still trained on the phone screen.

    “We gotta fucking change that,” said John. “It’s settled, then. We’re all going.”

 

 **John:** We’re coming!!!!

 **Eliza:** yay!

 

    Yeah. Today had the mist of contentedness settling around it; it would all be pretty okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thanks go to the kind Angst Queen, in her kindness, she gives me what we always wanted, she give me more Suffering  
> Chapter 13 will be up next weekend!  
> Scream at me on Tumblr! ciceroniantrash  
> -B


	13. He's Been Off in Paris For So Long...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Yes, there is a time gap during the previous chapter--Thursday suddenly blends to Friday. It will :)) be resolved ;)))  
> 2\. Special thanks to the most lovely human being ever, E aka A_A_Inc, for beta-reading this chapter! I LOVE their fic, Of Men and Gods and A Face Full of Stars -- go check it out!!!

     They headed out to meet Eliza at the rink around seven.

     “Did you get Liza’s text?” Peggy leaned over and asked when they were crowding  into Lafayette’s car.

     Alex nodded, and she winked back at him. “This has been in the works for  _ months _ . Even Daddy doesn’t know.”

     “What doesn’t Dad know?”

     “Nothing, Ang,” she singsonged in reply. “Just get in the car so we can leave.”

     “He doesn’t  _ need _ to know everything,” Angelica muttered, “but I do.”

     When they arrived at the rink, it was seven thirty and the sun was still high. Across the entrance was a “Newly Renovated” sign; Eliza was waiting at the door with Maria, standing by the decorative columns in front of the door.

     They were holding hands. Seeing them together made Alex feel happy to be joining the group. It was a long time coming.

     “They’re a good pair because they’re both ridiculously great at ice skating,” Herc commented out of the side of his mouth as they parked.

     “John is _ très bon  _ as well.”

     “Laf, you ain’t half bad, either. But Herc’s an oaf.”  
     “Hey!”

     The silence and anticipation fell on them all now, eager to see Angelica and Jefferson reunite. Even Alex, who hadn’t met Thomas at all and only heard of him in a vague conceptual forms. He had no idea whose opinion to trust, John’s or Angelica’s or Laf’s. But he would find out for himself soon enough, he supposed.

     Angelica seemed to pick up on it. “What’s going on?” 

     Peggy shook her head and put a finger to her mouth.

     “We have a surprise for you,” Eliza said, grinning widely as the gaggle approached.

     A figure burst from behind a column, a flurry of motion that weaseled the collective group heart from within itself. Laf put his hand to his heart in surprise. 

     James.

     Everyone laughed, including Angelica, who ran over to hug him. 

     “Hey, Angelica,” he chuckled back, kissing her on the forehead. “The only thing that would make today better is if Thomas were here.”

     Alex glanced around in attempt to meet Peggy’s or Eliza’s eyes. Was he here or not?

     Angelica wrinkled her nose. “I don’t even  _ like _ Thomas. Why would you say that?”

     A voice came from another pillar on the other side, high with a southern drawl. “Well, I’m offended. I didn’t come back from  _ France _ for this, Ang.  _ Quoi d'autre ai-je manqué? _ ”

     Angelica screamed in slow motion, but not a scream of joy -- more like a scream of fright. And then she broke into laughter.

     Thomas Jefferson was tall, but then, most people were taller than Alex. He had springy curls; a bright smile that took up a solid half of his face -- teeth shining in the light of his eyes. He wore one-hundred percent purple, down to the skates with violet guards that he held by their violet laces -- which he dropped to run over and hug Angelica.

     “My dearest Angelica,” Alex overheard his whisper, just barely, “With a comma after dearest.”

     He’d have to steal that line, it was a good one.

     She relented and threw her arms around him, still laughing. When she pulled back, Angelica raised an eyebrow. “Don’t expect such a warm welcome from me next time, Macaroni Man. And wear some color.”

     “Purple  _ is _ a color, Ang. You know you love me.”

     She smiled and kissed his cheek. “I put up with you, because I love James, and James loves you.”

     He shrugged a Ralph Lauren blazered shoulder, face flat in the air of an obvious inside joke. “Good enough.  _ Bonjour _ , bitches! Who’s this?”

     “Thomas Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton.” He reached out a hand to shake, and Jefferson did. He smelled like a cologne so expensive that it could have paid for Alex’s trip to the States.

     “Nice to meet you.”

     Thomas and James and Angelica joined hands, Thomas in the middle and Angelica carrying his tacky skates. Eliza followed them inside, and so did Laf and Herc. Alex looked at John.

_      John took his hand. _

     “I read your letter.”

     His heart jackhammered in his chest. “Oh?”

     All John did in reply was smile and tug him inside.

     The rink was entirely indoors, but there was a patio out the back edge that had bay windows allowing both sides to see each other. Thomas, Eliza, and Maria didn’t need to get rentals, but they went with the rest of them to the rental desk anyway.

     The process went fairly smoothly -- “get a size smaller than your shoe size, they run big” -- and the nine of them sat in the common lobby, attempting to put the boots on.

     “Dude, your outfit is ridiculous,” said someone passing by.

     Thomas double-finger-gunned him. “You should see the sunglasses.”

     “You should  _ not _ see the sunglasses,” Angelica warned as James shook his head vigorously.

     “Don’t listen to them.”

     Alex had no fucking clue how to tie the stupid things, but John demonstrated and he felt like he picked it up fairly well. Cross under tighten repeat.

     Standing in them was something that wasn’t so easy to pick up. Alex wobbled a little bit, and then sat back down. 

     “Nah,” he said simply, shaking his head with a nonchalant lip bite.

     Lafayette laughed. “It’s not that bad, you just have to get the hang of it.”

     “Come on.” John extended him a hand, already standing himself. Hercules was the last to finish lacing, and then they all stood. Alex tried it again, grabbing onto John’s arm before steadying himself. The first few steps were difficult, but then it seemed to get a lot easier.

     Eliza was the first to get on the ice, and it made her absolutely radiant. She smiled more widely than Alex thought he had ever seen her smile, even when Maria had accepted her offer for a date. And she was around the rink and back before Alex even made it onto the ice.

     She turned around and grabbed Maria’s hands, who had been reclining on the wall watching her. They took off, laughing. 

     John grabbed him and pulled him on the ice before Alex even had the opportunity to protest. “Thinking about it is worse than actually doing it,” he explained.

     Alex wasn’t so sure. Doing it was pretty bad.

      _My poor warm-blooded ass._ Ice had always seemed slippery and cold, but he hadn’t anticipated it to be  _ this _ slippery and cold. He stared back at Laf and Herc making their way carefully down the wall, Maria and Eliza skating around with ease, hands in their pockets, Angelica smiling at James and Jefferson (whose casual attitude was really beginning to irritate Alex, though he couldn’t quite figure out why), and felt a pang of longing go through him. They all seemed so happy.

     But when he struggled on the ice, Alex could feel John’s warmth pulse through him. Maybe someone was looking at him right now, looking at the two of them, and wishing  _ they  _ could be that happy.

     Alex wouldn’t pretend to know the challenges his friends were facing -- he had no right to -- but standing by their side would be enough. Through the times like this when they all seemed to be doing well, and through things like what John had gone through with his father. Alex just wanted to be there for them, he wanted them to allow it; he missed that, about the Caribbean. But looking up at John as he clutched his arm desperately, he knew he would have to try a little harder.

     “I’m going to turn around, okay? And then I’ll teach you.”

     “No.” He definitely  _ wasn’t _ chill about John loosening his grip, but all he did was 

_      John Laurens laughed _

     and turned around in a way that Alex didn’t even notice. He was just  _ there _ , just facing Alex without a hitch.

     “Okay, so -- Eliza, slow the fuck down -- I’m going to hold your hands out. Don’t fight it, even though you’re going to want to. It’s okay. I need you to bend your knees, and we’ll go slow.”

     “Why does that sound unbelievably kinky?”

_John Laurens laughed_ _and rolled his eyes._

_      “Alex.” _

     “Sorry. I’ll try.” 

     When he bent his knees, he felt his body stabilize a little bit, his center of gravity shifting. The thin blades still were nowhere near safe-feeling, and it was too cold for him - but John’s hands were around his, John’s face shone down at him, 

_      John Laurens smiled and laughed. _

     “One step at a time, now.”

     As he went forward, John took steps backwards. 

     “If you need to use the pick, use the pick, but don’t trip over the pick. Try and use the edges more.”

     “Yeah, sure, because  _ the edges _ are the things people use first off to get themselves moving instead of the  _ sharp prickly thing. _ ”

     “Alex, if you use the pick, you’re going to fall flat on your face. Trust me.”

     “Trust him!” said Ria, leading a luminous Eliza.

     Alex did his best, but it only seemed  _ logical _ to use the picks. Once he’d gotten the hang of that, John told him that he was going to let go.

     “Please don’t do that.”

     “I’ll be right here, though!”

     Alex felt nervous with the prospect, but he realized that he didn’t really have a choice in the matter. John was already letting go.

     “Alright, now just do the same thing that you did with me.”

     One step. One more. Only about one inch further down the wall, but he was actually...skating?

     Alex’s eyes had been fixated for the most part either on the railing or on the ice itself, but he risked a glance upwards to grin at John.

     And as his eyes went upwards, his blades slipped out from under him.

     In retrospect -- and these things always happened in retrospect, because it never seemed to be able to cram itself into the present moment -- he wished he could have said that the world spun around him, that everything came crashing down in some slow but symbolic way, that he felt every atom of air shift around his falling body, the same velocity as a watermelon dropped from the top of a building in a science experiment, that his life somehow came with the same slow-motion breaths that happened when 

_      John Laurens laughed. _

     None of it was true. None of the things he’d heard about falling on the ice were true. He was just on his feet, and then he wasn’t.

     And then 

_      John Laurens was laughing and the slowdown and the slow motion and his beautiful freckled face _

_      was real _

     and he loved it. He laughed back.

     John reached a freckled hand,  _ a freckled face, _ down to help him. 

     “Let’s just try and make it around once, or maybe a half a round, and go to concessions?” He wrapped an arm around Alex’s shoulders, and Alex felt so

**alive**

**_breath_ ** **less**

     “Sure,” he whispered. 

     Someone skating circles whistled at them.

     It took them ten minutes to make it back to the entrance they came from, but they did it. When Alex looked back at the rink, he saw people spinning and jumping freely, other less skilled people practicing around them and skating circles, kids and adults alike clinging to the walls. Angelica skated side by side with Madison, awkwardly making their way not too far away from the wall, presumably so they could stand again should they fall. Alex could recognize Thomas’ tacky purple ass anywhere, and he was still skating backwards in front of the Angelica and James duo. Peggy tacked on behind them, occasionally winking at Thomas, who would shoot winks back. Eliza and Maria, of course, blue and red but casually classic and simply stunning. They were two of the most beautiful women Alex knew, in every single way the word could be used, and he was so happy they’d found each other. Hercules and Lafayette were nowhere to be seen, until they got to concessions.

     They were sitting, skates unlaced, at a table by the window and sipping hot chocolates. Laf waved at he and John when they came by.

     John ordered some salted caramel white chocolate disaster and convinced Alex to get a flavored coffee with sugar and cream this time.  _ More sustenance,  _ was his argument. They agreed to split a nacho plate.

     John led him over to the couches, leaving Laf and Herc. “Best to let them have their date, you know?” 

     “Yeah,” Alex agreed. John was carrying all three things, since he was more sure of himself on the skates.

     “And I, um…” John cleared his throat as they sat, placing their order on the table. “I wanted to talk about your letter.”

     The nerves were back, frayed wires heating with sparks all over again. “Oh?” he tried for, but Alex’s throat had closed. All he managed was a squeak.

     John took his hand, leaned forward

_      Stopped before he could kiss Alex’s cheek or neck or temple or lips-- _

_      Whispered in his ear-- _

     “I want to be with you.”

     This closely, Alex could hear the strain in his own voice, the tightness. He was nervous, and it was endearing.

     “I want to be with you so badly.” This time he sounded as if he was going to cry, and when he pulled slightly back, eyes closed, he certainly looked it. Was his nose red from emotion or chill? His cheeks, flushed from nerves or dry cold?

     Time stopped when John’s eyelashes, tips on the edge of a mottled cliff, fluttered.

     Alex leaned, closed the space between them before he could open his eyes, and kissed him.

     It was possibly the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him.

     Slow, all consuming smiles and careless touches that broke like fireworks and coffees and chocolates and nachos and cold cold cold skating later, Alex could pass for someone who kind of knew what he was doing on the ice and the group of them left the rink.

     They sat just a little bit more comfortably on the way home. All of the tension was gone. Alex’s heart was light.

     And John leaned over and smelled his hair, sighed in a contented way, and he thought for the first time that perhaps John might actually care for him in the same way he did for John. 

     No, he wasn’t happy. Not exactly. The darkness was still there. But he was light, for today. For tonight. He was alright. Alex leaned into his new boyfriend, knowing that he’d be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Très bon - very good   
> Quoi d'autre ai-je manqué? - What else did I miss?
> 
> Come screech with me on tumblr!! ciceroniantrash  
> I used to figure skate, so this chapter was super bittersweet for me, but I hope you enjoyed the pure fluff!!!!


	14. Where You Are.

    By the time Alex checked his messages at work on Monday afternoon, he had missed twelve emails. None of them were from George Washington - they were on  _ texting terms now,  _ which was beyond any level of insane Alex had ever encountered. Two were from Philip Schuyler; two, from Samuel Seabury; one, from Friedrich von Steuben -- Alex wasn’t sure what to do with that one, it seemed to be addressed to “Phil”..; the remaining, from various news broadcasting agencies and newspapers that Schuyler had ordered him to ignore in one of  _ his _ emails.

    Despite the emails that were from his direct superior, Schuyler called him into his office almost as soon as Alex entered the building.

    “Eliza, would you at least let me get  _ coffee _ before you bother me with  _ real work _ ?”

    “I’d love to,” she replied, light and flowery, “but it’s dad’s orders.”

    “Well, I suppose I can’t disobey the order of the Great One,” he sighed.

    Eliza smiled, a kind of resigned understanding in her eyes. She made him think of Saturday, Saturday night and the ice rink and

_ John. _

    Alex was having trouble shaking two things out of his hair now: James Reynolds, and that ice skating trip. And the one always led to the other, it was wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey progression that wasn’t linear but a big blob of entwined abstraction.

    If he closed his eyes, Alex could still feel the cool and dry air of the ice rink pinching his cheeks like an overbearing grandmother. He could smell John, a scent he could conjure out of burning rubber filled air because of his endless desire to learn it and know it and breathe it, the second they became They. He could taste his coffee, only good because it was with John, and John’s hot chocolate, which he had sipped twice cautiously and then put down, and the nachos they shared, cheap cheese and stale crackers. He could hear Hercules joking a considerable amount behind him, and Lafayette making it a point to laugh in French. The burn of ice on his hands as he fell again and again and again and eventually didn’t, but the bite remained. He could read the first message John had sent after they departed burned inside of his eyelids - it was in the group chat:

 

**John:** that boy is mine? That boy is mine! [1 image attached]

**Alex:** You’re ridiculous. I love it.

**John:** (showing results for: ten MILLION heart emojis)

**Alex:** <3

**Hercules:** congrats!

**Lafayette:** how u say, fucking finally

**Eliza:** [party emojis]

**Peggy:** YAAAAAAS

 

    The image attached was a picture of him, taken at a time he didn’t remember, on the ice with a broad grin and a strangely wonderful light in his eyes. He was pulling his hat back down over his ponytail, trying to balance at the same time and laughing, likely because it was the only way he knew of coping with the nerves without being self-destructive. He looked happy. 

    He wasn’t. But he  _ was _ with John. And that was pretty good, too.

    And inevitably, that led to Reynolds.

_ you pay me. _

    This week was the first week he’d have to pay Reynolds upfront, and he’d made sure Alex knew it.

_ one hundred every two weeks. _

    Alex looked sidewards at Eliza, hidden by cascades of hair that she’d curled for once. He felt content, in his current friendgroup, content with his social circle and their interaction, the way they felt like family.

    James could throw a wrench in it.

_ I can ruin you. _

_ No, _ Alex thought back to James’ voice reverberating in his head,  _ the only person who gets to destroy me is me. _

    Schuyler’s door was open, as was the door inside of it that led to the smaller office on the left where Peggy was sitting, much as she had during von Steuben’s disaster. Angelica sat on the other edge of the couch, reading what appeared to be Common Sense by Thomas Paine. Eliza joined them, shutting the door behind her and offering Alex a small wave and smile.

    Philip Schuyler was writing something, clacking away on his computer’s keyboard. “Sir?”

    “Ah, Alex, I’m just finishing up an email. I beg your indulgence.”   
    “Speaking of emails, I may have one for you. I mean. Addressed to you, sent to me.”

    “From who?”

    “Mr. von Steuben, sir.”

    Schuyler turned red again, and Alex couldn’t help wondering as he muttered something unintelligible to himself -- did Philip Schuyler, notorious Single Man of the News, wait for replies over email like Alex waited for John’s texts? Did he freak out over von Steuben failing to reply to him within the same day, the same hour? Was a missing email the cause for unending concern? Does his mind flash with

_ He hates me/ he hates me / he hates me _

_ I said something wrong / he hates me _

_ He thinks I’m annoying / he hates me _

when von Steuben got too busy to reply or an email got lost?

    “Forward it to me, please,” Schuyler muttered, unblinking eyes fixed on the ground.

    “Of course sir. I haven’t opened it.” Alex tried his very best to convey the understanding and sympathy in his voice, and it paid off. The reflection of it came back to him through Philip Schuyler’s eyes.

    He knew Alex knew, and that he wouldn’t tell, because just like James Reynolds could to Alex, this information 

_ had the power to destroy his career if mishandled _

    and he sighed in relief. “Thank you, Alexander.”

**Alexander.**

    But it wasn’t like Burr had said it. Not the same. Broke the spell.

    The gratitude bled into his next words, laced together the spaces between the letters. “I called you here to talk about what happened Friday afternoon, with George Washington. He’s contacted me, as well as the Initiative. We think we have a work schedule set up for you.”

    “Oh?”

    “Frankly, being part of George Washington’s campaign team is a more than enough for the Revolutionary Initiative. He’s signed on. But I’m continuing to keep you under my staff - don’t look at me like that, I have money to spare and you’re basically my son -”

    “I’m not your son.”  _ Why is everybody calling me their son?  _ But he wouldn’t  _ mind _ being Philip Schuyler’s son...

    “That’s why I said basically. Anyway, I  _ would _ like to see you stay on  _ my _ team, because you are an incredibly valuable asset. And besides, Samuel Seabury needs his job. And he loves his job, even if he pisses all of us off while doing it.”

    Alex supposed it made sense, but…”A couple of questions, sir? If I’m still working for you, and working for Washington as well, what exactly will I be doing?  And If Seabury keeps his position - who will take mine? Sir, I don’t mean to insult you, but I don’t think I can take on that much at once. I’m already struggling. I know the Revolutionary Initiative demands a lot, but there are only so many hours in the day, and I have --” he stopped himself from saying  _ friends, _ from saying  _ a boyfriend _ \-- “I have to let my mind rest a little bit sometimes, too. I need to sleep, as much as I hate it, every once in a while.”

    Schuyler smiled. “Of course you need to rest. I understand, and so does the Revolutionary Initiative. The idea isn’t to overwork already hard-working college students. Believe it or not, it’s actually to  _ give _ them a break. The man who will be taking over for you -- well, you’re meeting him soon. I’d like you to read over his articles for grammatical errors -- it’s small, but it keeps you technically employed under me. And you will be needing to spend very little time in this office. Oh, I think you’ll have a wonderful time working with him. He dates my daughter.”

    “He dates...Peggy?” He knew it was in vain, but Alex was still hoping -

    “Angelica. He just recently came back home, and -- oh! There he is, right behind you.”

    Alex froze, a smile resting on his face that could have put the Cheshire cat to shame. “Thomas,” he squelched through his veins.

    “Alexander. Howyadoin?” Thomas Jefferson drawled without spaces, leaning against the doorframe.

    Alex looked at him - something was off. His hair was up and he looked just a little like Lafayette, but that wasn’t it. He wasn’t wearing purple, but he  _ was _ wearing insanely expensive professional clothing, and the cologne was the same...oh, yeah. Of course. “Why are you wearing a macaroni and cheese printed blazer?”

    Thomas smiled at him, his eyes smoking. “Mr. Schuyler. I didn’t know Alexander worked for you.”   
    “It happened while you were out. Quite a lot happened while you were out, as it were.” Alex nearly choked on his spit, hearing the chilled venom in Schuyler’s voice. “I’ve actually got Hamilton here as your superior editor.”

    The smoke turned into straight fire. Alex didn’t know much about Thomas Jefferson but he figured that Thomas would hate having someone like Alex as his superior, especially since he’d been working for Schuyler much longer. 

    Was that how he  _ met _ Angelica, or had Schuyler hired him  _ because _ of Angelica?   
    “Alright, sir. I’ve got three articles for you. And I have one with Angelica to review.”

    Beside him, Alex could discern Angelica opening the door. A trail of Eliza’s silvery laughter following her for the split second there was space between the knob and the frame.

    “Thomas,” she said, her voice cooler than her father’s. “That article you had me review was a real nice declaration.”

    “Damn, Ang. No need to be sarcastic. I heard Madison is cooking for you tonight?”

    “Yeah, would you like to join us? Or just stay alone and do whatever it is you do in your apartment that keeps you so  _ mellow, _ ” she hissed.

    Thomas raised an eyebrow. “I’ll join you. Text me the details.”

    “I’m only asking because of James.” She avoided touching him by deliberately forming a half circle around him as she walked past and through the door, a radius of a solid four feet. 

    “Anyway,” said Thomas after she’d gone, dumping a manilla folder on Schuyler’s desk. “I hope you like ‘em.”   
    “I’ll actually have Alexander read them first, if you wouldn’t mind. It is his job, after all.”

    “I hope your writing is better than your atrocious fashion sense,” Alex attempted to joke. Thomas laughed back in a way that was obviously forced. 

    “I’ll see you later, Alexander.” As he walked back past him, Thomas pulled at his cheesy blazer and cocked a smile. 

    Alex turned back to Schuyler, hoping the panic wasn’t too evident in his features. But there was something about Thomas Jefferson that set him off, just a little bit. 

    Once the door had closed for a second time, Mr. Schuyler shot him a Look. “I don’t understand why Angelica likes him, but she does, and that’s all that matters, I suppose. These are for you, of course. Please, do take them. I have to get going, special news report tonight.”

    “Of course, sir.”

    “Aside from this, then, go relax. Honestly, Alexander, I know I say that to you all the time. But you’re too young to work this hard.”   
    He smiled. “Yes, sir.”

    When he made it back to his desk, Alex allowed himself to check his phone.

    It was an odd sort of contentedness he felt, the kind where an Island of Goodness popped up in the Sea of Unease and Poor Judgement. It was enough to get by, enough to make him excited at the prospect of going home.

    Home. What made a home?

 

**John:** I miss you! Have a nice day at work u fucker

**John:** and come back to me soon

**John:** you fucker

**John:** <3

 

    Alex felt the blush creep up his neck.

    Home was made by the people you chose to have around you, the people who made you feel safe and loved. Home wasn’t here you came from and what it made you. Home was where you went and what you made of it.

 

**Alex:** Do you want to go to Federalist with me? I’m off.

**John:** ur there like 24/7 do u know that????

**Alex:** So?

**John:** come to ur dorm. Also. Lock ur dorm. People can steal things.

**Alex:** *narrows eyes*

**John:** I HAVE CHINESE FOOD!!!!!!! FUKCIN LO MEIN MAN

**Alex:** On my way.

 

    Alex checked out and pushed himself into the cool air. It was thick with surprising April humidity, but the real heaviness was all the things Alex suppressed from his mind and his heart. 

    His dorm was open - of course, John didn’t have a key, and he’d obviously left it open. The smell of Chinese takeout permeated the air as soon as he entered, and John already had a mouth full of noodles.

    “I thought you were going to wait for me,” he said to the freckled figure on his pseudo-roommate’s bed.

    “Rule number one of being my boyfriend,” John said, muffled, “you can’t expect me to wait for you to eat  _ food. _ But you can expect me to invite you along.”

    Alex’s heart fluttered when John said the word  _ boyfriend. _ “I’m never gonna get used to that,” he admitted as he tossed his things on his bed and pulled off his shoes.

    John beamed up at him, cheeks still stuffed, lips glossy. “Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend.”

    Alex grinned back. “Boyfriend wants some noodles.”

    He nodded at another box of lo mein. “I got you your own.” 

    He sat down beside John, leaned back against the wall. “I’ve never used this bed, honestly.”

    John raised an eyebrow. “You mind if I crash here tonight, then? Better put it to use.”

    “Kinky,” Alex said halfheartedly.

_ “You know what I mean.” _

    “Yeah.” Alex snapped the box open and breathed in the warm, oily, starchiness. His stomach grumbled, and he, embarrassingly, didn’t remember the last time he’d intentionally put food in his body. He just..ran out of time. And now, he had the time - he was with John. With John. He had the time. “Fucking hell,” he groaned, slurping one noodle up. “That’s delicious, man.”

    “I order really, really great takeout,” John chuckled, rolling his eyes. “So what’s up with work and stuff?”

    Through a mouthful of chicken-broccoli-carrot-carbs, Alex muttered, “One second.”

_ John Laurens only laughed harder. _

    “So get this,” he added after a minute, “I’m working with  _ Thomas Fucking Jefferson.” _

    His  _ boyfriend  _ looked at him like he’d said he was from Mars. “You didn’t know that? Ang met Thomas and James through his employment. James used to work for him, too, but he got really sick. He’s on paid leave.”   
    “Unbelievable. How come I didn’t know this?”

    John shrugged. 

    “Anyway, I’m his direct editor. It’s driving him nuts.”

    A snort. “I’ll bet.”   
    “Do you know if Angelica and Thomas actually, like, like each other? Or do they just kind of put up with each other because they don’t want to fight over James? I mean, I don’t want to sound insensitive or ignorant or anything, but...”

    “But they’re really kind of cold to each other, right? Yeah, no, I totally get it. But they’re one hundred percent in love. Angelica is just Angelica. Thomas is Thomas. They’re snarky by nature.”

    Alex nodded. “Thanks. I was just wondering. Just kinda concerned”

    “Anyway, then. What do you want to do tonight?”

    “Netflix?”

    “No chill?”

    “What?”

_ John Laurens laughed.  _

    “Never mind. Netflix sounds good.”

    “ _ Am I being propositioned --”  _ Alex teased.

    John’s face turned red. “No, no, that’s not what I --”

    “I know,” he laughed back, “I was joking.”

    John mumbled something into his takeout box, but then said out loud, “Do you have extra blankets around anywhere? And pillows?”   
    Alex blinked. “I’m a college student, John. Why would I have extras.”

    “But  _ do _ you?”

    “Yeah. They’re in my closet.” 

    John slurped a noodle and leaned down onto his shoulder. Before Alex could react, he’d put his food aside and scrunched his entire body close, to which Alex had no choice but to wrap his arms around John and pull him tightly against himself.

    “Or we could just sit like this,” John murmured, nuzzling his hose into the crook of Alex’s neck, which made Alex laugh.

    “This is good too,” he agreed; when he started speaking, John stopped purposefully tickling his neck with his nose and planted a warm kiss on his collarbone with a hum.

    “This is great. But nothing can’t be improved by blankets.”

    “And you expect me to  _ get up _ and get a blanket? Or  _ let you up _ to get a blanket?”

    John pulled back, looked at him, and pouted. Alex’s heart thudded,  _ he hates you you asshole. _ But John just smiled at him with half-lidded eyes and leaned back in. “Fair point.”

    Alex laughed nervously, but when John gave a content sigh, his qualms flew aside. “John?” he murmured.

    “Hmm?”

    “You’re the best.”

    John wrenched himself out of Alex’s grip, not entirely but enough to have air flow between them, and looked up into his eyes  _ helpless  _ and

_ John Laurens laughed _

__ and kissed him, oil and soy sauce on oil and soy sauce. 

    “ _ You’re _ the best,” he hummed between kisses.

    Alex rolled his eyes behind his eyelids.  _ I’m the worst. _ But John’s arms snaked up to his neck and then to the sides of his face and there was absolutely nothing he could do but think about John Laurens.

    So he didn’t try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff??? ANGST?? Why not both?  
> Not sure how long I'm going to be able to keep up actually, like, writing this story. I'm doing my best, but I'm really struggling with it. I will, of course, continue posting as long as I am able and will not leave you without resolution. I'm not that mean.
> 
> come punch me on tumblr! Really! I deserve it! Punch me in the neck! ciceroniantrash

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter One is up and done! I have a Lams semi-historical series of oneshots up - check it out, if you're into that!  
> Let's play "count the lyric references" in the comments! or not that's fine  
> Come talk to me on tumblr! I'm always up for Screaming: ciceroniantrash


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